ROSES  OF  SHADOW 


ROSES  OF   SHADOW 


A  NOVEL 


BY 

T.    R.    SULLIVAN 


'Why  should  poor  beauty  indirectly  seek 
Roses  of  shadow,  since  his  rose  is  true?" 

SONNET  Ixvii. 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1885 


COPYRIGHT,  1885,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


GRANT    ft    F  AIRES 
PHILADELPHIA 


CONTENTS 


PAGE. 

I.      AT   "THE   AEGEAN," I 

II.    "POOR  MARVIN!" 22 

III.  "UNDER   THE   GREEN   ROOF   OF   TREES," 30 

IV.  HEART'S-EASE  AND  RUE, 60 

V.    HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER, 90 

VI.    MOTHS  OF  A  FEATHER, 107 

VII.    CASA  BRUNI, 118 

VIII.    FACES  IN  THE  CROWD, 131 

IX.      "QUIS    CUSTODIET   IPSOS    CUSTODES  ? " 154 

X.    "LES  AFFAIRES  AVANT  Tour!" 165 

XI.    MACHIAVELLI  AND  His  WIFE, 180 

XII.    LETTERS  OF  GREAT  MOMENT, 193 

XIII.  PROBLEM  AND  SOLUTION, 204 

XIV.  "SHADOWS  WE  ARE,  SHADOWS  WE  PURSUE!"  .   .  220 
XV.     PROGRESS, 230 

XVI.    "EPPUR  Si  MUOVE!" 253 


2227S33 


ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 


i. 

AT  "THE  AEGEAN." 

A  DOZEN  years  or  more  ago,  the  figures  do  not 
matter,  before  the  invading  host  of  traders  had 
pitched  its  tents  in  one  of  the  noblest  avenues  of 
the  modern  Athens,  the  "  y£gean  "  Club  still  inhab- 
ited a  cosy  red-brick  house  on  the  lower  side  of 
Boston  Common.  The  stone  portico  with  its  Tus- 
can columns,  the  wrought  iron  balustrades,  the 
heavily  slated  roof  and  ugly  little  dormer-windows 
have  been  swept  away,  and  the  club,  well  known 
as  one  of  the  oldest  in  the  city,  stretches  itself  anew 
in  more  luxurious  quarters.  It  was  not  a  large 
club  in  those  days ;  three  or  four  hundred  members 
there  were  at  most, — doctors,  lawyers,  literary  men, 
men  of  business,  with  a  few  idle  souls  who  listened 
well, — somewhat  incongruously  grouped,  as  in  most 
clubs  from  time  immemorial.  About  the  old  place, 
nevertheless,  there  was  an  air  of  jolly  fellowship, 


2  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

that  is  said  by  certain  solemn  gray-beards  to  be 
lacking  in  the  new  one.  But  club  men  of  five-and- 
forty  who  can  look  back  ten  years,  even  to  think 
of  what  they  had  for  dinner,  without  sighing,  are 
rare  indeed. 

The  word  dinner  is  a  reminder  that  its  hour  was 
a  merry  one  at  the  old  "  vEgean."  Men  dropped 
in  between  five  and  seven  to  dine,  two  or  three 
together,  in  a  large  room  on  the  second  floor  over- 
looking an  irregular  enclosure  behind  the  house; 
the  servants  called  this  patch  of  ground  "  the  gar- 
den," but  there  flourished  in  it  only  dusty  grass  and 
vines  with  a  restless  dwarf  of  a  fountain,  that  kept 
a  gilt  ball  bobbing  up  and  down  its  tiny  jet  all  the 
summer  time.  After  dinner,  coffee  and  cigars  were 
to  be  had  in  the  library  or,  weather  permitting,  on 
the  stone  balcony  fronting  the  street  and  the  double 
row  of  great  English  elms  in  the  mall  that  bounds 
the  Common.  What  sunsets  those  were  to  be 
lazily  admired  or  ignored  according  to  the  digestive 
mood  of  the  moment !  The  new  club-house  turns 
its  back  upon  them. 

In  the  twilight  of  a  warm  May  evening,  three 
young  men  chanced  to  have  the  balcony  and  the 
fading  panorama  of  the  sky  to  themselves.  Inside, 
the  waiters  were  flying  about  to  fill  orders,  amid 
the  tinkling  of  bells,  the  click  of  billiard  balls  and 
the  confusing  clamor  of  a  political  discussion, 
wherein  ten  worthy  citizens  animated  by  the  best 
of  motives,  were  striving  to  express  simultaneously 
their  ten  conflicting  views ;  but,  undisturbed  by 


AT  «  THE  AEGEAN."  3 

this  Babel  of  familiar  sounds,  these  three  sat  alone 
with  the  twinkling  stars  and  their  tobacco,  and 
watched  for  some  time  without  comment  the  stream 
of  human  life  that  kept  its  restless  course  along  the 
street  below  them.  At  last  one  of  the  three  was 
provoked  into  breaking  abruptly  the  seals  of 
silence;  two  girls,  let  loose  from  some  shop,  hap- 
pened to  pass  by  on  the  other  side,  and  one  of 
them  threw  a  mischievous  backward  glance  at  the 
group  on  the  balcony. 

"  Pretty  face,  that!  "  The  speaker  roused  himself 
so  suddenly  that  his  hand  struck  the  balcony  rail 
and  sent  his  cigar  flying. 

He  was  rather  short,  rather  stout  and  rather 
dapper,  and  it  pleased  him  to  affect  an  English  in- 
tonation; as  the  cigar  fell  he  looked  after  it  and 
good-naturedly  cursed  his  own  awkwardness. 

"  Hunter  lost  his  heart  again?"  asked  one  of  his 
companions  who  sat  behind  the  others  a  little  in 
the  shadow. 

"  No,"  answered  the  third,  a  handsome  fellow, 
with  a  minute,  dark  moustache  that  he  was  per- 
petually twisting,  "  only  his  cigar !  Here,  Hunt, 
console  yourself!  "  and  he  passed  his  cigar-case. 

"  Thanks,  but  I  did  lose  'em  both,  Elliston. 
Both  ?  All  three,  for  the  face  is  gone  now." 

The  man  in  the  shadow  growled  rather  scorn- 
fully, and  the  conversation  was  left  for  Elliston  to 
resume,  which  he  presently  did. 

"  What  a  curious  thing  city  life  is  !"  he  began. 

"  Apropos  of  what?  "  broke  in  Hunter. 


4  KOSES  OF  SHADOW. 

"Well,  of  your  face  in  the  crowd.  Ten  to  one, 
you  will  never  see  it  again.  Every  day  hundreds 
of  strange  people  pass  in  and  out  of  our  lives. 
This  street  is  like  a  kaleidoscope;  whenever  it  stirs 
there  comes  a  new  combination." 

"Well,  really,  you  know,"  said  Hunter,  "always 
seeing  nobody  new  would  be  demned  stupid,  you 
know!  You  might  as  well  live  at  home!  Eh, 
Marvin  ?  "  and  he  turned  to  the  man  behind  them. 

Marvin  answered  Elliston  over  Hunter's  head. 
"  I  am  not  so  sure  about  this  kaleidoscope  business, 
Jack,"  said  he.  "  Did  you  ever  make  experiments? 
One  combination,  at  least,  repeats  itself  often 
enough." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  Elliston  asked. 

"  A  blank !  "  Marvin  answered.  "  That's  a  simple 
figure !  No  doubt  the  more  complex  ones  would 
follow,  if — " 

"  If  you  only  followed  'em  up  !  "  put  in  Hunter. 
"  Recipe :  to  make  new  faces  old  ones,  follow  'em 
up,  Jack,  follow  'em  up !  And  begin  now, — look 
there ! " 

He  pointed  with  his  cigar  to  the  slender  figure 
of  a  girl,  who,  as  he  spoke,  crossed  the  pavement 
below  and  narrowly  escaped  collision  with  the 
light  wheel  of  one  of  those  almost  noiseless  vehicles 
built  for  the  most  reckless  form  of  rapid  transit. 
Reaching  the  opposite  curb,  unconscious  of  her 
danger,  she  passed  on  in  the  crowd,  looking  neither 
to  right  nor  left  with  brows  knit  as  if  she  were  lost 
in  thought;  she  was  very  simply,  even  shabbily 


AT  "  THE  &GEAN." 


5 


dressed,  but  the  men  only  noticed  her  pale,  tired, 
little  face  that  under  other  conditions  would  have 
been  beautiful. 

"  Whew !  "  said  Hunter,  "that  cub  all  but  ran  her 
down  !  What  a  little  beauty  it  was  though  !  " 

"  Bless  us,  Bob,  I  believe  you  !  "  said  Elliston. 
"  Her  face  was  lovely !  Strange,  too  !  It  was  like 
— "  but  he  left  the  sentence  unfinished. 

"  Like  whom  ?  "  asked  Marvin,  whose  eyes  were 
still  following  the  girl's  retreating  figure. 

"  No  matter,  old  boy,  you  would  be  none  the 
wiser  if  I  told  you;  I'm  forever  seeing  these  chance 
resemblances.  Choice  combination  though, — worth 
watching  for  again  !  " 

"  Choice  enough,  if  Marvin  noticed  it ! "  said 
Hunter. 

"  Yes,"  said  Elliston,  "  he  isn't  often  taken  that 
way.  I  believe  when  we  are  all  married  and  settled, 
Marvin  will  be  found  here  alone,  left  sitting,  like 
what's-his-name's  New  Zealander — " 

"Yes,  smiling  at  your  ruined  lives !"  interposed 
Marvin,  looking  solemnly  at  the  stars  as  if  his 
friends'  destinies  were  written  in  them.  Elliston 
laughed. 

"By  the  way,  though,"  said  Hunter,  "I  had 
almost  forgotten !  Who  was  that  devilish  fine 
figure  of  a  woman  you  were  walking  with  the  other 
day,  Marvin  ?  " 

"  I  ?  "  asked  Marvin.     "  Where  ?  " 

"Oh,  come,  you  can't  play  that!  In  one  of  the 
suburbs  !  Belmont,  wasn't  it  ?  " 


6  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Marvin,  gruffly,  still  staring  at 
the  stars.  "  I  never  went  there  in  my  life." 

"So  you  have  forgotten  it,"  Hunter  persisted, 
"  or  perhaps  you  didn't  know  you  were  there.  You 
seemed  to  have  lost  yourself.  For  once,  you 
looked  almost  good-natured." 

"  That  settles  it !  "  said  Marvin.  "  It  was  some- 
body else — my  double,  I  suppose." 

"  Your  double !  He's  a  lucky  dog,  then  !  Take 
my  advice,  and  cultivate  him;  he  keeps  good 
company." 

"What  was  she  like,  Bob?"  asked  Elliston, 
whose  curiosity  was  now  thoroughly  aroused. 
"  Come,  tell  us." 

"Well,"  returned  Hunter,  reflectively, "  she  was 
tall  and  dark, — dark-haired  and  dark -eyed — yes,  a 
brunette,  decidedly.  She  had  a  very  trig  get  up, 
don't  you  know ;  her  raiment  was  of  a  foreign  cut 
— quite  the  latest  thing  from  the  other  side,  I 
should  say,  but  there  was  nothing  loud  about  it, 
either.  She  was  really  most  uncommon  good 
style,  Jack.  The  sort  of  girl  to  make  cold  mutton 
attractive,  now,  I  give  you  my  word." 

"Hear  him!"  said  Elliston.  "Bob  Hunter 
eloquent !  What  next?  " 

"  But  my  heart  was  stolen  away,  don't  you  see?" 
said  Hunter,  "  there  was  a  kind  of  a  what-do-you- 
call-it  about  her — a  heap  of  mischief,  don't  you 
know,  in  her  eyes !  " 

"Tall  and  dark  !  "  cried  Elliston.  "  That  sounds 
like — "  But  before  the  name,  which  must  have 


A  T  "  THE  AEGEAN."  j 

been  the  right  one  could  escape  him,  he  felt  the 
warning  pressure  of  a  hand — Marvin's  hand — upon 
his  shoulder.  A  very  gentle  pressure  it  was,  and 
darkness  having  now  fairly  overtaken  them,  the 
slight  movement  needed  to  make  it  passed  unnoted 
under  Hunter's  very  eyes;  a  pleading  pressure, 
almost  pathetic  in  its  significance  to  Elliston,  in 
whose  heart  it  struck  a  tenderly  responsive  chord. 
"  Don't !  "  it  seemed  to  say,  "  don't  give  this  imper- 
tinent little  brute  my  secret,  for  it  is  one !  "  The 
bond  between  these  two  was  that  of  an  intimate 
friendship  somewhat  curious  in  its  nature,  on  Ellis- 
ton's  side  amounting  almost  to  affection,  on  Mar- 
vin's to  little  more  than  tolerance.  So  the  former 
now  stopped  short  and  made  no  sign,  only  looking 
askance  at  Marvin,  inwardly  amazed.  His  friend 
sat  like  a  graven  image  with  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
firmament;  but  Elliston  still  felt  the  hand  resting 
lightly  on  his  shoulder. 

"Well,"  said  Hunter,  impatiently,  "well,  who 
was  it?" 

"  Miss  Jewsbury !  "  said  Elliston,  with  a  mis- 
chievous look  at  the  tormentor's  eager  face. 

Marvin  withdrew  his  hand,  chuckled,  sent  a  great 
puff  of  smoke  heavenward  and  burst  into  a 
triumphant  laugh. 

"  Pshaw ! "  said  Hunter  in  a  nettled  tone,  "  I 
thought  Jack  really  knew  !  " 

Hunter,  some  years  before,  had  proved  a  social 
failure;  but  having  developed  at  a  tender  age  a 
marked  talent  for  money-making,  he  had  become 


8  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

an  authority  and  a  power  in  the  stock-exchange- 
His  self-complacent  little  soul  accepted  the  situa- 
tion ;  and  he  was  accustomed  to  give  out  that  he 
had  weighed  society  in  his  delicately  adjusted 
balance  and  found  it  wanting.  Balls,  parties,  and 
all  other  innocent  devices  tending  to  a  reunion  of 
the  two  sexes  he  classed  alike  in  the  same  category 
— they  did  not  pay.  A  man  of  business,  he  argued, 
should  be  steeped  in  business ;  he  should  be  ever 
ready  to  grasp  even  the  fleeting  leisure  moment  in 
his  Midas-clutch  and  make  it  golden.  But  to  err  is 
human,  and  this  amiable  philosopher  had  lately 
shown  signs  of  lamentable  weakness — a  doubt  in 
or  an  inability  to  follow  the  tenets  of  his  own 
creed.  Within  a  few  days  Elliston  had  caught 
Hunter  at  the  theatre,  cheek  by  jowl  with  a  certain 
Miss  Jewsbury,  heiress  and  woman  of  fashion;  one 
or  two  other  good  fellows  had  also  noted  the  inci- 
dent, and  had  agreed  that  Hunter  was  displaying 
"  a  tendency  "  that  they  saw  no  harm  in  discussing 
in  shady  corners  under  the  rose.  Elliston,  with  less 
discretion,  seemed  now  about  to  indulge  in  open 
satire  at  the  stock-broker's  expense;  for  to  him  at 
least  Miss  Jewsbury's  charms  were  strictly  imper- 
sonal in  their  nature;  physically  she  was  as  unlike 
Hunter's  portrait  of  an  unknown  beauty  as  any 
woman  could  be. 

Hunter,  thus  fairly  caught  in  a  trap  of  his  own 
setting,  at  once  turned  the  talk  into  another  channel 
and  began  a  comic  story  to  which  Marvin  listened 
good-humoredly,  while  Elliston  listened  not  at  all. 


AT  "THE  AEGEAN."  9 

His  mind,  on  the  contrary,  was  wholly  absorbed  in 
the  new  phase  of  Marvin's  character  now 
suddenly  revealed  to  him.  Among  his  friends 
Gilbert  Marvin  had  always  passed  for  one  who 
from  sheer  apathy  of  soul  would  never  marry.  A 
lazy  indifference  to  all  but  his  own  comfort,  great 
composure  of  manner,  and  a  habit  of  referring 
every  doubtful  problem  to  the  dictates  of  his  reason 
had  gained  for  him  the  nick-name  of  "the  Stoic." 
He  was  rather  proud  of  the  title,  and,  having  a 
moderate  fortune,  some  taste  for  books,  with  a 
strong  distaste  for  hard  work,  contented  himself 
with  living  up  to  it.  He  had  been  five  years  out 
of  college;  he  had  been  abroad,  had  studied  law 
and  had  even  been  admitted  to  the  bar ;  then  he  had 
decided  that  he  would  rather  not  play  with  a  pro- 
fession. His  age  was  twenty -seven ;  in  figure  he 
was  robust  and  broad-shouldered;  his  face  was  not 
remarkably  handsome, — blue  eyes  and  a  yellow 
moustache  just  saved  it  from  the  other  extreme, — 
but  it  was  a  good  face ;  and  he  was  a  good,  straight- 
forward fellow,  who  had  never  in  all  his  life  known 
a  sick  moment,  never,  it  was  said,  a  moment  of 
enthusiasm.  To  Elliston,  therefore,  the  touch  of 
this  man's  hand  at  a  critical  moment  seemed  to 
amount  almost  to  a  confession  of  weakness.  It 
was,  at  any  rate,  the  most  spontaneous  and  confi- 
dential advance  in  their  somewhat  one-sided  friend- 
ship that  Marvin  had  ever  made.  "  What  does  it 
mean  ?  "  Elliston  thought,  while  Hunter's  rivulet  of 
humor  trickled  mildly  on  to  the  vanishing  point; 


1 0  J? OSES  OF  SffADO  W. 

"  is  it  only  to  spite  Bobby  that  I  must  not  breathe 
her  name  ?  Or  is  the  old  boy  caught  at  last  ? 
Upon  my  soul,  I  believe  so  ! "  And  he  began  to 
fit  together  little  bits  of  corroborative  circumstan- 
tial evidence,  that  coincided  like  the  pieces  of  a 
Chinese  puzzle.  Suddenly  Hunter's  monotonous 
tone  was  merged  in  an  expressive  chuckle,  and  a 
deep-toned  growl  of  amusement  from  Marvin 
warned  him  that  it  was  time  to  join  in  the  laugh.  It 
is  easy  to  counterfeit  the  hilarity  that  is  born  of  story- 
telling, as  all  who  are  not  story-tellers  well  know; 
and  neither  of  Elliston's  companions  had  the  least 
suspicion  that  he  could  not  have  repeated  a  single 
word  of  Hunter's  tale.  Yet  fearing  perhaps  that 
his  sincerity  might  be  called  in  question,  Elliston 
now  rose  nervously,  walked  toward  the  nearest 
window,  and  thus  gave  the  signal  for  breaking  up 
the  party.  Mechanically  the  others  followed  his 
lead,  and  they  went  into  the  house  together.  The 
great  dingy  smoking-room,  so  noisy  a  while  ago, 
was  now  deserted.  In  one  corner  a  group  of  ill- 
assorted  chairs  marked  the  scene  of  the  wrangling 
debate  over  the  affairs  of  the  nation,  that  had  been 
prematurely  adjourned  sine  die ;  the  round  table 
under  the  reading-light  upheld  a  confused  heap  of 
current  literature — journals,  reviews,  magazines, — 
that  had  been  flung  at  it  from  all  sides ;  smoke  was 
everywhere;  the  walls  were  discolored  by  it,  the 
furniture,  rugs,  hangings  had  absorbed  it,  and  it 
oppressed  the  air  like  an  exhalation. 

"  Ah,"  said  Elliston, "  here  are  the  new  reviews ! " 


AT  "  THE 


II 


He  was  an  architect,  enthusiastic  in  his  profes- 
sion as  in  everything  that  concerned  him  at  all,  and 
he  went  at  once  to  the  table  to  consult  the  latest 
technical  authorities.  Marvin  following,  began  to 
pull  over  the  papers  listlessly.  Hunter,  meanwhile, 
made  his  way  to  a  half-open  door  leading  to  the 
library,  whence  there  issued  the  sound  of  voices;  on 
the  threshold  he  ran  into  the  arms  of  a  burly  fellow, 
red-haired,  red-faced  and  red-bearded,  who  came  out 
of  the  inner  room,  grinning  like  a  merry-andrew. 

"What's  up,  Doctor?"  Hunter  asked,  as  there 
followed  a  shout  from  within. 

"  Only  a  new  engagement — just  out !  "  replied 
the  tawny  medical  man,  whose  name  was  Dudley. 

"  Well,  speak  up  man,  who  is  it  ?  " 

"  Ambrose — lucky  devil !  I  shouldn't  have 
thought  it,  although — " 

"Ambrose  engaged!"  said  Elliston,  suddenly 
throwing  down  his  paper,  and  advancing.  "To 
whom  ?  " 

"  Miss  Bromfield  !  " 

"  Helena  Bromfield  ?  "  Elliston  spoke  the  name 
with  a  sort  of  gasp.  He  thought  afterward  that  he 
would  have  given  a  year  of  his  life  for  a  sight  of 
Marvin's  face  when  the  announcement  was  made ; 
for  it  was  this  name  that  had  just  trembled  on  his 
own  lips  out  there  in  the  darkness.  He  turned, 
but  it  was  too  late;  his  friend's  looks  had  already 
regained  whatever  degree  of  composure  they  had 
lost,  and  now  Marvin  joined  them,  about  to  speak, 
if  Hunter  had  not  saved  him  that  trouble. 


j  2  XOSES  OF  SHADO  W. 

"  Don't  know  her !     Money,  isn't  there  ?  " 
"  Rather!  "said  Dr.  Dudley,  with  an  expressive 
defiance  of  grammatical  laws.     "  Ask  Marvin ;   he 
knows  the  family ;  or  ask  Ambrose." 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  library  door  swung  open, 
and  there  entered  the  fortunate  suitor,  Maitland 
Ambrose  himself,  attended  by  a  noisy  troop  of 
friends;  a  man  under  thirty,  tall,  muscular,  well- 
proportioned,  with  a  classically  outlined  face ;  not  a 
hero's  face ;  not  the  face  of  a  demi-god,  but  the 
earthier,  athletic  type  that  has  come  down  to  us  in 
statues  of  the  Phidian  age.  Low-browed  and 
square-jawed,  with  thick,  black  hair,  tightly  curl- 
ing and  showing  here  and  there  a  tinge  of  gray,  he 
was  the  fighting  gladiator  in  a  dress  suit — out- 
wardly, no  less,  no  more.  By  women  he  was 
always  called  phenomenally  handsome,  and  most 
men  reluctantly  admitted  that  he  was  so.  Intel- 
lectually clever,  brilliant  even,  he  had  distinguished 
himself  in  college  and  was  now  the  most  promising 
of  young  lawyers,  with  a  rising  reputation  that  en- 
sured his  success  in  society;  all  this,  to  the  great 
delight  of  his  father,  a  commonplace  mercantile 
man,  who  had  married  a  superior  woman  and  had 
grown  old  prematurely.  This  was  his  only  child 
and  his  idol ;  the  son's  pleasure  was  the  father's  first 
thought;  he  would  have  gone  without  life's  neces- 
sities himself  to  give  his  boy  its  luxuries.  This 
homage  Maitland  accepted  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  carried  himself  at  home  and  abroad  with  a 
certain  arrogance  that  had  threatened  for  a  time  to 


AT"  THE  AEGEAN."  ! 3 

mar  his  fortunes.  But  nothing  succeeds  like  success ; 
criticised,  sneered  at,  Maitland  Ambrose  may  have 
been,  but  only  with  bated  breath;  his  enemies 
were  few,  his  friends  many;  and  his  followers  were 
legion. 

Neither  Marvin  nor  Elliston  could  boast  of  this 
man's  friendship;  yet  both  knew  him  intimately. 
This  sentimental  paradox  is  one  of  the  phenomena 
of  American  club  life.  Men  cannot  sit  together 
an  hour  or  more  daily,  year  in  and  year  out,  by 
twos  or  threes  or  fours  as  chance  wills  it,  without 
acquiring,  little  by  little,  a  pretty  definite  knowledge 
of  each  other;  particularly  when  the  hours  of  inter- 
course are  dinner  hours  and  therefore  apt  to  be 
unguarded  ones.  In  vino  veritas  is  a  truth  worn 
threadbare  every  week  in  a  club  dining-room,  where 
your  neighbor,  who  is  icy  over  his  soup,  melts  at 
the  vol-au-vent,  and  nibbles  his  salad  with  a  com- 
municative warmth,  of  which  he  will  repent  upon 
the  morrow,  if  he  remembers  that  he  dined  with 
you.  Thus,  Ambrose  was  very  well  known  to 
these  two,  who  met  him  pleasantly  enough  upon 
occasion  in  the  club-house,  but  outside  of  it  never 
exchanged  a  word  with  him.  They  stood  some- 
what aloof  until  Hunter  had  finished  his  boisterous 
greeting;  then  Elliston  made  Ambrose  a  civil 
speech  and  Marvin  silently  shook  his  offered  hand; 
after  which  they  quietly  fell  back  into  the  outer 
circle  of  the  group  in  which  the  engaged  man  had 
now  become  the  central  figure. 

He  threw  himself  down  into  an  arm-chair  with  a 


KOSES  OF  SHADOW. 
»4 

serene  expression  in  his  face,  like  that  of  a  martyr 
undero-oing  torment,  whose  conscious  heroism  is  its 
own  reward.  The  myrmidons  at  once  renewed  their 
interrupted  attack,  this  time  under  Hunter's  lead. 

"Come  now,  Ambrose,"  he  said,  "tell  us  all 
about  it.  How  did  it  happen  ?  " 

"  Never  mind,  my  dear  boy ;  it  can  never  happen 
to  you  !"  was  the  quick  retort,  provoking  a  general 
laugh  that  only  acted  like  a  spur  in  the  side  of 
Hunter's  intent  and  did  not  discomfit  him  in  the 
smallest  degree. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  lightly,  "  you  take  a  great  deal  for 
granted.  Every  dog  has  his  day,  and  mine  will 
come.  No  woman  ever  held  the  same  mind  above 
a  week,  and  you  have  been  engaged — how  long  ?  " 

"  Souvent  femme  varie, 
Bien  fol  qui  s'y  fie !  " 

murmured  Dr.  Dudley,  who  in  the  hospitals  of 
Europe  had  gained  a  smattering  of  many  tongues. 

"  Women  are  so  freaky,  don't  you  know !  "  con- 
tinued Hunter,  who  spoke  no  language  but  his 
own ;  "  there  was  one  who  made  sheep's-eyes  once 
at  me,  and  then — " 

"  There  was  Beauty  too,  Hunter,"  said  Ambrose, 
"and  her  Beast!" 

Another  laugh  greeted  this  apt  allusion,  and  this 
time  Hunter  looked  a  little  ruffled.  "  No,  but 
seriously,  you  know,"  said  he,  "a  girl  told  me  only 
the  other  day,  at  a  party  I  was  decoyed  into,  that 
she  hated  lobster,  and  then  ate  a  whole  plateful — 
three  claws  too — that  another  fellow  brought  her! " 


A  T  "  THE  ^GEAN."  !  5 

"I  know  who  that  was!"  piped  a  squeaking, 
effeminate  voice  from  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

These  unlucky  words  were  received  with  peals 
of  laughter,  during  which  Hunter  turned  scarlet, 
then  white,  and  answered  nothing;  for  it  was  the 
voice  of  little  Phil  Jewsbury  to  whose  sister's 
caprices  the  stock-broker  was  already  accounted  a 
willing  slave.  When  there  came  a  lull  Dr.  Dudley 
threw  him  a  crumb  of  consolation. 

"  Don't  mind  Phil,"  said  he.  "  We  made  him 
drink  a  quart  of  Barsac  at  dinner.  The  very  roots 
of  his  tongue  are  loosened!" 

Mr.  Jewsbury  protested  that  he  needed  no  such 
apology,  and  was  thereupon  admonished  by  Hunter 
to  "  shut  up." 

"Oh,  I'm  happy,  Bob!"  was  his  sarcastic  reply. 

"  Happy !  "  repeated  Ambrose,  who  felt,  perhaps, 
that  his  interests  were  in  danger  of  being  slighted. 
"  You'll  never  be  that  till  you  have  followed  my 
lead." 

"  Not  then,  perhaps,"  said  Dudley.  "  A  happy 
marriage  is  like  an  honest  politician — rare  ! " 

"  Much  you  know  about  it,"  Ambrose  continued. 
"  Poor  devils  !  Not  one  of  you  understands  what 
happiness  really  means." 

"Bah!"  spoke  up  a  man  who  sat  behind  him. 
"  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Hear  !  Hear  !  "  was  the  general  shout  as  Am- 
brose turned  upon  the  speaker. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  Bruni,"  said  he.  "Well,  you  have 
the  floor." 


l6  HOSES  OF  SHADOW. 

Bruni,  as  many  will  remember,  was  an  Italian 
artist  who  had  drifted  over  to  America  in  his  youth, 
and  had  won  by  hard  labor  a  local  reputation ;  a 
man  just  over  forty,  with  great  black  eyes  and  a 
leathery,  oval  face ;  he  was  small  and  thin,  too, — so 
thin  that  he  looked  as  if  a  strong-  east  wind  would 
waft  him  away ;  his  first  wife,  of  his  own  nation, 
had  died  when  she  was  little  more  than  a  girl ;  his 
second  choice,  an  American,  was  still  in  the  bloom 
of  health,  yet  Bruni  passed  all  his  evenings  at  the 
club,  the  very  prince  of  night-owls.  He  spoke 
with  a  slight  foreign  accent  and  the  right  word  was 
often  long  in  coming. 

"It  is  a  dream,"  he  said;  "a  vision,  a  phantas- 
magoria, your  happiness — always  in  anticipation, 
never  in  possession.  You  long  for,  it  may  be,  a 
ray  of  light;  and  your  very  longing  is  a  prism  that 
refracts  it  into  seven  primary  colors.  Remove  the 
prism,  gratify  the  longing,  it  is  a  ray  of  light — that 
is  all ! " 

"  Cynic ! "  said  Ambrose,  with  a  good-humored 
smile. 

Bruni  wheeled  his  chair  forward  into  the  circle. 
"  No,  no,"  he  said.  "  What  I  tell  you  is  the  truth. 
When  I  was  a  boy  I  toiled  night  and  day  to  see 
Paris ;  I  went  there,  and  I  found  it  a  city  of  en- 
chantment. I  made  it  my  home,  and  little  by  little 
the  glamour  wore  away  ;  nothing  can  ever  bring  it 
back.  -Paris  is  a  city — no  more  to  me  than  this 
one.  So  in  everything.  You  admire  a  picture. 
Well,  don't  buy  it.  Let  it  hang  on  the  other  fel- 


AT  "  THE  AEGEAN."  ly 

low's  wall — he  has  forgotten  that  it  is  there.  Why, 
the  Venus  Victrix  would  have  become  a  block  of 
stone  even  to  Pygmalion —  if  he  had  owned  her !  " 

"Pygmalion!  Pshaw  !"  Ambrose  returned.  "He 
was  one  of  you  artistic  chaps  that  fell  in  love  with 
his  own  work,  and  more  fool  he.  It's  not  a  ques- 
tion of  the  fine  arts,  but  of  lovely  woman,  who  is 
infinitely  variable.  Vide  Dudley,  and  a  better  man 
before  him ! " 

"Ah  !"  said  Bruni.  "  You  have  a  cricket  in  your 
head.  What  do  you  call  it  here  ?  A  caprice  !  You 
are  happy.  You  think  so  ?  " 

"Think?     I  know!" 

"  Good.  You  have  found  your  Beatrice, — then 
possibly  some  one  else  has  lost  her.  Good,  again. 
He  is  the  man  I  envy.  He  is  happier  than  you." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  grudge  him  his  happiness,"  said 
Ambrose,  laughing. 

"  He's  a  better  man  than  you,  I'll  swear,"  con- 
tinued Bruni.  "  He  will  have  a  hard  pull  of  it,  but 
he  will  see  it  through.  He  will  go  home  and  stir 
his  fire ;  the  smoke  will  get  into  his  eyes,  but  he 
will  dream  over  the  embers  long  after  you  have 
forgotten  Beatrice.  What's  a  fire  to  a  married 
man  ?  He  never  sits  over  it.  His  romance  has 
come  to  the  word  '  Finis  ! '  He  throws  down  the 
book  and  picks  up  an  essay  on  toleration ;  for  man 
and  wife  tolerate  each  other,  as  brothers  and  sisters 
do." 

"  And  this  is  Bruni,  the  galantuomo  !  "  said  Dr. 
Dudley,  with  affected  sadness  in  his  tone. 


jg  KOSES  OF  SHADOW. 

"  Put  him  out !  Put  him  out ! "  said  Phil  Jews- 
bury.  "Shocking  !  Married  man,  too  !  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Bruni,  "like  any  other.  We  are 
all  the  same — all  human." 

"  Well,  Ambrose,"  said  Elliston,  "  you  are  done 
for — shelved  with  '  Waverley'  and  '  Ivanhoe '  and 
all  the  old  love-stories.  Which  of  us  goes  next? 
That's  the  question." 

"  Ask  Marvin,"  said  Hunter,  while  Elliston 
mentally  cursed  his  own  too  ready  tongue. 

"  Ask  Hunter,"  said  Marvin,  toward  whom  all 
eyes  but  Elliston's  were  now  directed. 

"Oh,  mine  is  an  old  story,"  Hunter  retorted, 
"  but  yours — " 

"  Pshaw !  Marvin  is  safe  enough,"  said  Elliston, 
ill  at  ease. 

"  Perfectly !  Perfectly ! "  muttered  Bruni,  who 
was  now  lying  back  in  his  chair  and  watching 
Marvin  through  his  half-closed  eyes. 

"Don't  you  believe  it!"  insisted  Hunter.  "A 
sly  dog  is  Marvin,  as  I  can  prove." 

He  paused  thus  upon  the  very  threshold  of  his 
tale,  hoping,  perhaps,  for  some  word  of  remon- 
strance to  ensure  the  interest  of  his  hearers.  He 
looked  at  Marvin,  who  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 

Ambrose  laughed  incredulously.  "  Prove  it, 
then !  "  said  he. 

Elliston  for  Marvin's  sake  was  now  on  pins  and 
needles.  He  felt  that  his  friend's  calmness  was  for 
once  assumed,  and  that  Hunter's  version  of  the 
encounter  in  the  suburbs  was  the  last  thing  he 


AT  "THE  &GEAN."  ig 

wanted  to  hear.  Moreover,  Hunter  had  already 
proved  sufficiently  accurate  in  his  word-painting; 
what  if  that  portrait  of  his  were  to  be  recognized 
anew  by  every  man  in  the  room  ?  Decidedly,  the 
vulgar  little  beggar  must  not  be  permitted  to  go  on! 

With  the  evident  intention  of  making  the  story  a 
long  one,  Hunter  was  beginning:  "Well,  you  see, 
it  was  only  the  other  day  in  the  country — "  and 
Elliston,  in  despair,  was  meditating  a  wild  plunge 
at  his  throat,  when  suddenly  Bruni  curled  up  in 
his  chair  with  a  gurgle  and  a  gasp,  and  then,  rigid 
and  unconscious,  dropped  sidelong  into  Phil  Jews- 
bury's  arms. 

Instantly  every  man  started  to  his  feet  in  alarm. 
Amid  the  general  confusion,  Dr.  Dudley,  whose 
bearing  at  once  became  comically  professional,  took 
charge  of  the  patient  and  bore  him  to  the  nearest 
sofa,  accepting  in  this  the  silent  aid  of  Mr.  Jewsbury ; 
the  latter,  apparently  stirred  to  the  heart's  core, 
turned  pale  as  death  and  trembled  in  every  limb. 

"  Is  he  dead  ? "  he  asked,  hovering  over  the 
Italian's  prostrate  form,  while  the  anxious  group 
closed  in  behind  them. 

"  Dead  !  No !  He  has  fainted,"  said  the  doctor, 
impatiently,  as  he  loosened  the  scarf  about  Bruni's 
neck.  "  Get  some  water,  will  you  ?  Stand  back, 
here !  Give  the  man  a  chance  to  breathe." 

Phil  Jewsbury  made  a  dash  through  the  door  for 
a  great  water-cooler  that  stood  in  the  adjoining 
room,  and  the  doctor  threw  up  a  window  with 
emphasis.  As  they  turned  away,  Bruni  opened 


20  HOSES  OF  SHADOW. 

one  eye  with  a  delighted  look  at  the  row  of  solemn 
faces  now  keeping  their  respectful  distance ;  then 
he  twinkled  back  into  unconsciousness  again. 

"  Here's  the  water ! "  shrieked  the  trusty  messen- 
ger, reappearing. 

"Don't  make  such  a  row!  "was  Dr.  Dudley's 
brutal  speech,  as  he  cocked  up  Bruni's  heels  in  ap- 
proved fashion.  He  must  have  taken  the  titter  of 
suppressed  mirth  behind  him  to  be  all  at  Jewsbury's 
expense,  for  he  went  gravely  on  with  the  process 
of  resuscitation. 

Jewsbury  joined  the  others,  and  rinding  a  smile 
on  every  face  was  hysterically  amused  without 
knowing  why. 

The  doctor  wheeled  about  angrily.  "  What  are 
you  laughing  at  ?"  he  asked.  This  was  the  last 
straw.  A  shout  arose  that  fairly  shook  the  room, 
and  Dr.  Dudley  in  amazement  saw  one  man  after 
another  distort  himself  as  in  a  convulsion,  and 
then,  reverting  to  the  sofa,  there  beheld  Bruni 
sitting  up  in  damp  disorder,  holding  both  his 
shrunken  sides. 

The  medical  man  gave  one  inarticulate  gulp  of 
chagrin,  and  stalking  to  the  mantel-piece  rang  the 
bell  violently. 

"  What  will  you  drink  ?  "  he  inquired,  with  due 
submission. 

The  waiter  entering  from  the  hall,  took  his  list 
of  orders  wearily,  and  crossed  the  room  to  go  out 
another  way.  At  the  door  he  recoiled  in  dismay ; 
for  Jewsbury  in  his  emotion  had  left  awry  the  stop- 


AT"  THE  ^GEAN."  2 1 

cock  of  the  water-cooler,  and  the  inner  room  was 
well-nigh  deluged.  This  exhilarating  incident 
acted  upon  the  mirth  like  oil  upon  flame,  keeping 
the  company  aglow  with  genial  warmth  till  the  re- 
turn of  the  waiter  with  his  jingling  glasses.  A 
facetious  toast  in  honor  of  the  doctor  was  then 
drained  in  bumpers. 

"  Only  one  of  Bruni's  cursed  jokes,"  he  growled 
in  acknowledgment.  "  I  might  have  guessed  it 
Holloa!  Here's  one  glass  over.  Who  has  left  us? 
Ambrose !  " 

"  On  duty  ! "  said  Bruni ;  "  and  he  did  not  give  us 
time  to  drink  his  health." 

Marvin  rose  and  buttoned  his  coat  about  him. 
"  I  must  be  off,  too,"  said  he. 

Elliston  jumped  up.  "Are  you  going  home?" 
he  asked.  Their  eyes  met,  and  Marvin  looked  at 
him  steadily  a  moment  before  he  answered. 

"  No;  only  up  to  the  card-room.  There's  a  gang 
at  it,  I  believe.  Will  anybody  come  with  me  ?  " 

Dudley  pulled  out  his  watch  and  pleaded  a  pro- 
fessional engagement ;  Hunter  and  Jewsbury  were 
exchanging  stories,  each  laughing  at  his  own ; 
Elliston  made  no  reply,  but  Bruni  professed  himself 
ready  for  cards  and  brandy-and-soda  to  all  infinity. 

The  two  went  up  stairs  slowly,  arm-in-arm. 
Elliston,  homeward  bound,  lingered  in  the  hall, 
looking  after  them  thoughtfully.  "  Strange  !  "  he 
muttered.  "  He  never  plays  here.  Does  he  think 
I  want  to  question  him  ?  Bruni's  fit  was  curiously 
apropos.  Could  he  have  known  ?  " 


II. 


"POOR  MARVIN!" 

A  FTER  an  hour  or  two  of  varying  fortune  at 
/JL  the  card-table,  Marvin  yielded  his  place  to 
a  new-comer,  and  withdrew  with  a  cheery  "  good- 
night; "  hurrying  down  to  the  coat-room,  where  the 
hall-boy  sat  sound  asleep  at  his  post,  he  quietly 
took  his  hat,  and  left  the  house.  As  he  crossed  the 
street  he  looked  up  at  the  lighted  windows  with  a 
sigh  of  relief,  and  then  turned  his  steps  toward  his 
lodgings,  which  were  near  at  hand.  The  night  had 
grown  suddenly  cold,  and  there  was  a  scent  of  rain 
in  the  air,  but  he  was  moving  just  now  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  his  own  that  kept  earth's  vapors  from  him. 
Mechanically,  like  one  who  walks  in  sleep,  he 
crossed  the  familiar  threshold  and  stood  in  his  un- 
lighted  rooms.  Once  there,  safe  from  the  hostile 
eye  of  man,  he  seemed  to  come  to  himself,  for  he 
shivered  a  little,  closed  the  windows,  kindled  a  fire 
and  stretched  out  his  hands  toward  the  friendly 
blaze.  As  he  did  this,  a  smile  stole  over  his  face. 
"  Good  fellow,  Bruni,"  he  muttered.  "  Better  than 
he  dreams.  Clever  speech  of  his  about  a  fire — it 
does  comfort  a  man."  Then  he  struck  a  light  and 
looked  around  him. 


"POOR  MARVIN!"  2$ 

It  was  a  large  square  room  with  a  low  ceiling 
that  he  might  almost  have  touched  by  raising  his 
hand.  The  windows  were  small,  deeply  recessed 
and  divided  into  many  panes ;  to  reinforce  their 
scanty  supply  of  light  the  walls  had  been  covered 
with  paper,  once  a  creamy  white,  now  mellowed 
and  dimmed  by  the  "  careful  and  reasonable  use  " 
of  smoke-emitting  lodgers.  The  furniture,  which 
was  Marvin's  own,  was  rather  stiffly  disposed  about 
the  sides  of  the  room,  with  blank  spaces  here  and 
there,  as  if  there  were  not  enough  of  it  to  go  round. 
An  oblong  table  in  the  middle,  and  an  arm-chair, 
warranting  bodily  comfort  by  its  fair  proportions, 
were  the  only  objects  that  did  not  seem  adherent 
to  the  walls.  Under  both  chair  and  table  the  gray 
carpet,  elsewhere  of  faded  gentility,  was  worn 
threadbare.  Two  giant  bookcases  held  an  array 
of  noble  names  in  honorable  retirement  behind 
their  glass  doors ;  other  names  of  lighter  import 
were  represented  in  the  little  squads  of  books 
drawn  up,  for  the  time  being,  in  various  halting- 
places  about  the  room.  The  favorite  prints  of  an 
earlier  generation  hung  upon  the  walls,  with  now 
and  then  a  foreign  photograph,  recalling  Marvin's 
few  months  of  European  travel;  there  were  foils, 
too,  and  wire  masks,  boxing-gloves  and  a  bit  of 
rusty  armor ;  and  over  the  door  leading  to  his 
chamber  was  stretched  a  strip  of  black  cloth  with 
the  legend  "  G.  MARVIN  "  painted  thereon  in  letters 
of  staring  white, — a  souvenir  of  college  days. 
Above  the  mantel-piece,  looking  forth  upon  him  from 


2/4  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

a  tarnished  frame,  were  the  features  of  his  remote 
ancestor — Roger  Marvin,  able  advocate  and  jurist 
of  New  England's  later  colonial  time;  a  rather 
thin-lipped,  austere  old  fellow  of  fifty,  he  seemed, 
with  sharp,  black  eyes  and  hair  in  powder,  some  of 
which  had  shaken  down  upon  his  claret-colored 
coat.  In  spite  of  Marvin's  blue  eyes  and  of  his 
fuller  facial  outline,  he  bore  a  strong  resemblance 
to  this  portrait  that  was  not  only  a  treasured  heir- 
loom but  also  the  acknowledged  master-piece  of  a 
famous  hand.  It  was  a  picture  that  arrested  atten- 
tion, and,  flashing  out  like  a  rich  jewel  in  the 
plainest  of  settings,  it  lent  warmth  and  color  to  a 
room  that  was  singularly  deficient  in  the  indefinable 
home-like  quality  that  women  always  ascribe  to 
"  little  things."  Here,  the  only  little  things  were 
ash-receivers — fitting  symbols  of  the  place.  For 
every  bachelor  apartment  is  a  kind  of  columbarium, 
where  he  who  holds  the  key  deposits  day  by  day 
the  ashes  of  his  heart.  And  yet,  every  woman, 
married  or  single,  when  she  is  graciously  admitted 
to  such  a  retreat  invariably  waits  upon  the  threshold 
with  a  sigh,  looks  about  her  and  says  :  "  He  is  too 
comfortable ! " 

Marvin,  standing  there  with  his  back  to  the  fire 
and  the  portrait,  was  oppressed  with  a  sense  of 
dreariness  he  had  never  known  before.  He  bal- 
anced himself  first  upon  his  toes,  then  upon  his 
heels,  humming  all  the  while  the  airiest  of  tunes  ; 
but  it  would  not  do.  To  pass  his  counterfeit  gayety 
off  upon  his  neighbors  had  been  easy  enough ;  he 


«  POOR  MAR  VIN!  "  2$ 

found  it  harder  to  cheat  himself.  At  last  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently,  and  going  to 
the  table,  wrote  his  name  with  his  forefinger  in  the 
dust  that  had  settled  there;  but  even  this  novel 
pastime  failed  to  distract  him,  though  he  repeated 
it  once  or  twice  with  an  unpleasant  sneer  upon  his 
face.  So  he  followed  his  thought  where  it  had 
flown  long  before  him  to  an  old-fashioned  escritoire 
that  stood  in  a  corner  near  the  window.  Opening 
this,  he  took  from  it  two  or  three  letters  around 
which  there  hung  a  delicate  perfume  like  the  scent 
of  withered  roses  ;  they  were  all  of  recent  date  and 
in  the  same  handwriting,  and  seemed  alike  com- 
monplace in  their  tenor  as  he  passed  them  in 
review.  The  first  was  an  invitation  to  dinner, 
stating  merely  the  day  and  hour  upon  which  he 
would  be  cordially  received ;  the  second  thanked 
him  for  some  trifling  bit  of  information.  He  read 
these  hastily,  crumpled  them  up  and  flung  them 
into  the  fire,  lingering,  however,  over  the  third, 
which  was  a  little  longer  than  either  of  the  others 
— but  only  a  very  little.  It  ran  as  follows : 

"TUESDAY,  5TH    MAY. 

"Mv  DEAR  MR.  MARVIN: 

"  Let  our  walk  be  to-morrow  if  you  have  nothing  better  to 
do — and  after  I  have  admired  your  famous  oak  trees,  will  you  help 
me  to  perform  a  small  act  of  charity  ?  I  have  a  poor  woman  to  visit 
in  Belmont, — much-dreaded  duty,  for  I  am  unsympathetic,  as  you 
know.  May  I  count  upon  your  escort  to  bring  me  through  the 
trial  cheerfully?  Will  you  not  dine  with  us,  too,  upon  our 
return  ?  I  am  sure  that  papa  will  be  delighted  to  see  you. 
"  Always  cordially  yours, 

"HELENA  BROMFIELD." 


25  POSES  OF  SHADOW. 

"  Always  cordially  yours !  "  The  words  were 
hardly  a  week  old,  and  now  she  was  another  man's! 
The  pretty,  fashionable  formula  that  meant  abso- 
lutely nothing  fairly  enraged  him,  and  now  for  the 
first  time  he  admitted  to  himself  that  he  had  fallen 
in  love.  Hopelessly,  too,  there  was  the  pity  of  it. 
And  she  had  led  him  on.  She  had  proposed  this 
walk — had  arranged  it  all.  This  very  note  was  an 
encouragement;  in  writing  it  she  had  advanced  as 
far  as  a  well-bred  woman  could  to  meet  him.  He 
remembered  his  triumphant  thought  when  he  re- 
ceived the  lines  and  tried  to  read  between  them : 
"  She  gives  me  a  chance — she  may  be  mine  for  the 
asking !  "  Well,  he  had  not  asked  her.  And  now 
the  whole  scene  flickered  back  in  the  fire  there 
before  him.  The  warm,  bright,  spring  afternoon ; 
the  stroll  under  the  linked  arms  of  the  great  pre- 
historic oaks  just  budding  into  young  life  again. 
What  a  light  there  was  on  everything !  What  a 
chirping  and  twittering  and  scolding  went  on  over- 
head !  And  when  they  stopped  and  stared  about  not 
a  feather  could  be  seen.  Even  the  violets  seemed 
to  turn  pale  and  shrink  from  them ;  but,  all  at 
once,  two  little  yellow  birds  flew  out  from  a  stunted 
cedar  and  kept  fluttering  on  in  front  as  if  to  lead 
the  way ;  and  a  great  robin  stood  up  and  peered  at 
them  out  of  the  grass  as  they  crossed  the  noisy 
little  brook  on  stepping-stones.  They  laughed  and 
chatted  of  a  thousand  things  ;  yet  all  the  while  he 
was  saying  to  himself:  "  She  is  mine  if  I  ask  her! 
Shall  I  ?  "  Then  he  was  left,  pacing  up  and  down 


"POOR  MARVIN!"  2/ 

with  his  cigar,  two  draggled  ducks  and  a  sleepy 
white  cat  for  company,  before  a  tumble-down  house 
by  the  roadside,  while  she,  on  her  errand  of  mercy, 
lingered  there  within ;  and  then  it  was  that  selfish 
doubts  and  fears  of  losing  his  independence  began 
to  creep  into  his  mind.  Was  he  ready  to  make  his 
first  thought  a  life  other  than  his  own  ?  Was  not 
marriage  at  its  best  a  fearful  risk, — a  step  forward 
in  the  darkness,  not  to  be  taken  rashly  ?  Why  not 
wait  and  think  it  over  ?  There  was  time  enough. 
Was  she  not  all  but  won  already  ?  He  would  wait! 
So  out  upon  the  road,  in  the  little  hollow,  where 
they  were  to  climb  the  slope  leading  through 
Waverley  meadows  to  the  turnpike,  a  silence  fell 
upon  them.  Who  knows?  He  might  even  then  have 
opened  his  sealed  lips  and  owned  himself  enslaved, 
if  up  there,  close  at  hand,  a  certain  chestnut  horse 
with  Bob  Hunter  on  his  back  had  not  ambled  by 
upon  the  highway.  He  smiled,  the  prying  rascal, 
half  turning  in  his  saddle ;  he  had  seen  them. 
Truly  it  was  absurd !  The  stern  philosopher,  suffi- 
cient unto  himself,  whom  man  delighted  not  nor 
woman  neither,  caught  gathering  nosegays  with  a 
silken  nymph  in  Arcady  !  Most  absurd — unreal ! 
He  could  not  recognize  himself.  He  would  wait 
until  to-morrow — to-morrow  he  would  come  to  his 
senses,  and  then — 

The  log  upon  the  fire  parted  and  the  ends  fell 
smouldering  under  the  andirons.  The  clock  struck 
one  in  the  church  tower,  two  streets  away ;  he 
went  to  the  window  and  looked  out;  there  was  a 


2g  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

moaning  of  the  wind,  and  great  rain-drops 
pattered  against  the  pane.  Was  it  one  of  these  or 
a  tear  that  had  fallen  upon  his  hand?  He  had 
come  to  his  senses  here  alone  in  the  night,  when 
it  was  too  late.  Pshaw  !  No  matter !  He  turned 
back  to  the  fire  and  thrust  the  open  letter  into 
the  coals;  the  paper  changed  color  and  writhed 
like  a  living  thing  in  torment;  a  yellow  flame 
flashed  up — "always  cordially  yours" — it  was 
gone.  He  laughed ;  he  was  happy,  he  was  free ; 
he  knew  his  own  mind  now ;  nothing  could  ever 
change  it.  And  yet — and  yet — there  was  nobody 
like  her — nobody  in  all  the  world.  Even  Hunter 
knew  that — had  he  not  seen  the  "heap  of  mischief" 
in  her  eyes  ?  Weakness,  weakness !  He  was 
.tired,  no  wonder  that  he  yielded  to  it  now; 
but  he  was  a  man  and  not  a  child;  he  would  go 
to  bed,  turn  his  face  to  the  wall,  sleep,  and  all 
would  come  right  in  the  morning.  What  speech 
was  that  his  favorite  hero,  the  giant  Frenchman 
of  '93,  made  upon  the  scaffold  ?  "  Danton,  no 
weakness ! "  A  good  word  to  remember.  But  yet, 
there  was  nobody  like  her — nobody,  in  all  the 
world. 

Down  in  the  street,  Bruni,  plodding  home  alone 
from  his  brandy  and  his  card-playing,  looked  up  at 
the  lighted  window,  and,  forgetting  that  this  was 
the  man  whose  lot  he  had  called  enviable,  shook 
his  head  and  sighed  :  "  Poor  Marvin  !  " 

And  Marvin,  sleeping  lightly,  dreamed  that  he 
was  not  a  man,  but  a  child,  gathering  star-flowers 


"POOR  MARVIN!" 


29 


in  a  wide,  neglected  garden,  where  a  great  angel 
with  snowy  wings  led  him  by  the  hand  and  pointed 
to  a  shining  city,  lying  beyond  the  wall,  under  low- 
arching  trees,  very  far  away. 


III. 


"UNDER    THE    GREEN    ROOF    OF   TREES. 

THE  next  morning,  which  by  a  swift  caprice 
of  the  northern  spring,  came  in  all  smiles 
and  sunshine,  a  new  Marvin,  his  wit  turned  the 
worldly  side  without,  sat  at  breakfast  with  the 
newspaper  spread  out  before  him.  Like  many 
another  honest  single  gentleman,  this  one  was 
always  reluctant  to  converse  before  eating,  and  he 
preferred  that  the  first  meal  of  his  day  should  be 
served  in  strict  seclusion;  the  cloth  was  therefore 
laid  in  his  own  apartment  over  a  small  round 
table,  near  a  window.  Through  this  semi-trans- 
parent medium  the  audacious  sunbeams  now  forced 
their  way,  treating  everything  they  touched  with  a 
kind  of  disrespect  that  revealed  hidden  imperfec- 
tions and  cast  mocking  shadows  where  none  were 
before.  Even  the  painted  semblance  of  grim- 
visaged  Roger  Marvin  did  not  escape  their  harle- 
quin trickery;  for  now  and  then  a  nimble  sprite  of 
the  sun  leaped  back  from  some  glittering  object  on 
the  table,  to  play  about  the  compressed  lips  as  if  he 
would  force  them  to  relax  a  little ;  but  the  son  of 
the  Puritans  was  inflexible  and  smiled  not  even  in 
seeming. 
3° 


"UNDER  THE  GREEN  ROOF  OF  TREES."      3! 

Marvin  read  the  morning  news,  munching  his 
roll  all  the  while  with  a  good  appetite ;  then,  cup  in 
hand,  he  rose  and  moved  over  to  the  fire-place  to 
drink  his  coffee  standing.  There  was  no  fire,  but 
he  had  a  habit  of  surveying  life  serenely  from  the 
hearth-stone,  after  the  manner  of  a  domestic  animal. 
He  stood  there  now  in  an  attitude  of  composure ; 
but  it  was  the  composure  of  an  actor  who  has  just 
passed  through  his  first  trying  situation,  and  waits, 
with  his  face  made  up,  for  the  next  act  to  begin. 

Presto !  The  curtain  was  rung  up  and  he 
looked  upon  the  world  again.  There  came  a 
knock  at  the  door,  and  Elliston  entered  with  an  un- 
accustomed nervousness  of  manner  that  was  at 
once  dispelled  by  his  friend's  kindly  greeting.  He 
who  would  confide  nothing  wished  the  other  to 
think  there  was  nothing  to  confide ;  a  little  warmth, 
and  the  light  fog  of  suspicion  would  clear  away. 

"  Have  you  breakfasted  ?  "  he  asked,  pointing  to 
the  well-furnished  table  and  the  vacant  chair. 

"  Hours  ago  !  "  said  Elliston.  "  Do  you  think  I 
have  time  to  '  chew  the  cud  and  be  silent '  ?  I  am 
deep  in  business  already." 

"  This,  then,  I  take  to  be  a  business  visit,"  said 
Marvin,  finishing  his  coffee  and  putting  the  cup 
down. 

"  Strictly,"  answered  Elliston,  as  he  took  a  chair, 
leisurely.  "  Give  me  a  cigarette,  please.  I  have 
a  scheme." 

Marvin  lighted  his  friend's  cigarette,  then  his 
own.  "  Unfold  it,"  said  he. 


32  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

"  Well,  my  family  are  settled  now  in  our  country 
place  at  Winton  River  Mills, — they  went,  you 
know,  just  before  tax-time  to  circumvent  the  city 
fathers — and  I  am  in  the  throes  of  a  new  house 
that  I  am  building  up  there  for  one  of  the  aborig- 
ines; he  has  written  me  a  stormy  letter,  and  his 
wrath  must  be  appeased.  An  affair  of  a  day  or  two 
under  the  paternal  roof.  I  am  going  this  morning." 

"  Well,"  said  Marvin,  laughing,  "  what  is  it  ? 
Can  I  lend  you  the  money  for  your  fare?  " 

"  Bless  you,  no,  it's  not  that !  But  you're  looking 
rather  under  the  weather — Dudley  noticed  it  last 
night." 

This  was  a  blunder ;  but  Marvin  was  perfect  in 
his  part  and  made  no  sign. 

"  Two  mistakes  in  one  evening,"  he  said,  with 
another  laugh.  "  Dudley  should  go  West !  I  am 
strong  as  a  horse — look  at  me  !  "  and  he  pommelled 
his  chest  with  his  clenched  right  hand. 

"  A  hollow  mockery,"  answered  Elliston.  "  You 
need  change  of  air.  Come  up  to  our  shanty  with 
me — there's  a  train  at  10.15." 

"  Impossible — "  Marvin  was  beginning, — then  he 
suddenly  thought,  "  Why  not  go,  be  in  the  best  of 
spirits,  play  the  part  out  to  the  end  ?  "  and  he  suited 
his  words  to  the  thought.  "  Impossible — at  least, 
by  that  train  !  " 

"Ah!"  said  Elliston,  who  had  expected  a  blunt 
refusal.  "  When  is  there  another  ?  Let  us  see !  " 
and  he  consulted  the  newspaper. 

But  now  Marvin  hummed  and  hawed,  and  had 


"  UNDER  THE  GREEN  ROOF  OF  TREES." 


33 


important  business  to  keep  him  in  town — he  who 
led  the  most  indolent  of  lives — and  did  not  think 
he  could  go,  after  all.  Then  Elliston  insisted  ;  and 
so,  after  some  discussion,  it  was  finally  arranged 
that  he  should  postpone  his  departure,  meeting 
Marvin  at  the  station  after  a  two-hours'  interval, 
during  which  it  was  probable  that  these  urgent 
affairs  could  be  transacted  and  dismissed  forever. 

He  went  away  in  the  merriest  of  moods,  and 
Marvin  smoked  a  cigar  with  great  deliberation,  then 
gathered  up  his  luggage  with  care  and  precision, 
dawdling  about  as  though  he  had  the  day  before 
him  ;  after  which,  being  somewhat  pressed  for  time, 
he  wrote  a  hurried  line  to  a  florist,  ordering  a  hand- 
ful of  his  wares  to  a  given  address  with  the  card 
which  he  enclosed.  And  this  was  the  important 
business  that  required  his  immediate  attention. 

Soon  they  were  gliding  out  together,  southward 
and  westward  over  the  ringing  rails,  across  the 
broad,  blue  basin,  where  the  river  lingers  a  little  to 
murmur  a  protest  half  playful  and  half  plaintive 
against  the  encroaching  bulwarks  of  the  city,  before 
it  suddenly  swerves,  and  is  borne  with  a  resistless 
current  under  long,  low,  wooden  bridges,  by  rotting 
wharves  and  crumbling  warehouses,  through  the 
traffic-stained  harbor  out  into  the  sea.  Next,  they 
came  to  green  patches  of  unreclaimed  marsh-land, 
lying  between  them  and  the  river-bank ;  then,  to 
quiet  villages  and  bustling  country  towns  full  of 
dust,  small  trade  and  churches;  and  still  the  same 
river,  silent  now  and  dwindled  to  a  ribbon  of 


34 


KOSES  OF  SHADOW. 


mottled  blue  and  brown,  wound  in  and  out  on  one 
side  or  the  other  of  the  railway.  At  last,  on  the 
edge  of  a  wood,  at  a  little  station,  not  twenty  miles 
from  town  by  rail,  but  more  than  fifty  by  boat  upon 
the  river,  the  train,  turning  from  the  main  line  and 
moving  slowly,  seemed  almost  to  brush  its  way 
through  the  interlacing  branches — then  crossed  a 
rumbling  viaduct  high  up  over  the  stream,  and 
finally  stood  still  and  panted  in  a  little  hollow  that 
lay  like  a  green  cup  dropped  down  among  the  hills. 

There  were  no  other  passengers  left  in  the  train, 
which  backed  noisily  away  the  moment  Marvin  and 
Elliston  alighted.  The  village  of  Winton  River 
Mills  began  with  the  station  where  they  stood, — then 
came  the  two  weather-beaten  paper  mills  whence  it 
derived  its  name  ;  beyond  these,  a  broad,  shady 
street,  curving  round  the  base  of  one  of  the  hills, 
soon  found  itself  a  country  road  again;  overhead,  a 
church-porch  stood  out  against  the  dark  pines  of 
the  grave-yard,  and  the  other  hills  were  white  with 
apple-blossoms.  Within  these  narrow  limits  lay 
the  quiet  village,  that  looks  to-day  much  as  it  did 
then,  as  it  has  looked  for  more  than  thirty  years. 
For  the  railway,  that  disturber  of  the  peace,  enters 
the  little  valley,  finds  it  a  stupid  impasse  leading 
nowhere,  retraces  its  course  and  goes  the  way  it 
came. 

A  patient  horse  attached  to  a  weak-jointed  wagon 
stood  in  the  shadow  of  the  station.  The  driver, 
white-haired  and  solemn,  with  a  blade  of  witch- 
grass  in  his  mouth,  nodded  gravely  to  Elliston  as 


"  UNDER  THE  GREEN  ROOF  OF  TREES." 


35 


they  took  possession  of  the  vehicle,  and  the  horse 
started  off  with  a  jerk  as  though  he  had  suddenly 
found  a  definite  aim  in  life.  They  were  soon 
rattling  upon  the  wooden  bridge  over  a  dam,  where 
a  sheet  of  glassy  water  gliding  quietly  down  into  a 
brown  pool  seemed  to  make  undue  commotion 
there ;  then  they  turned  away  from  the  village 
street,  and  drove  through  a  cool,  green  lane  by  the 
riverside.  The  driver  asked  Elliston  what  the 
weather  was  in  town;  and  Elliston  told  Marvin  that 
the  hill  behind  them  was  called  White  Knob. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  driver,  "  from  there  you  can  see 
Mount  Monadnock.  Haw!  up!"  These  last  words 
in  response  to  a  reckless  plunge  of  the  horse,  while 
Marvin  mentally  wondered  if  there  were  any  hill  in 
Massachusetts  without  its  shadowy  Monadnock  on 
the  northern  horizon. 

Both  river  and  village  were  out  of  sight  when 
they  drew  up  before  an  irregular  wooden  house, 
low-roofed,  with  only  a  clean-cut  privet  hedge 
between  it  and  the  road. 

"  This  is  the  place,"  said  Elliston,  as  they  dis- 
missed their  conveyance.  "  You  see  I  did  well  to 
call  it  a  shanty ;  the  Governor  really  must  let  me 
put  up  a  decent  house  here.  Now  for  the  tribe  !  " 
They  passed  through  the  hall  and  one  or  two  of 
the  lower  rooms,  meeting  everywhere  an  air  of 
comfort  and  the  "  neat  disorder "  that  betokens 
well-bred  women ;  but  none  of  the  tribe  were  to  be 
seen.  At  last  they  roused  a  somewhat  hard- 
featured  maid-servant,  who  informed  "  Mister  Jack" 


36  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

that  the  members  of  his  family  were  all  away  and 
would  not  return  until  dinner-time. 

"And  Miss  Gerard,  too,  Sarah?"  Elliston  asked. 
Yes,  Miss  Gerard  was  with  them.  He  next  in- 
quired how  the  kids  were;  and  Sarah,  comprehend- 
ing this  reference  to  his  two  small  sisters  and 
smaller  brother,  who,  with  "  Mister  Jack "  and  a 
boy  of  twenty  away  at  sea,  made  up  the  younger 
generation  of  the  Elliston  family,  replied  that  all 
were  well;  this,  with  a  sigh,  as  if  it  would  relieve 
her  to  have  one  or  two  of  the  "  kids  "  laid  up  with 
some  mild  disease,  and  then  she  added : 

"  And  there  come  a  letter  from  Master  Tom  this 
morning." 

"  Ah,"  said  Elliston  "  that's  good !  Now,  then, 
Sarah,  this  is  Mr.  Marvin.  Show  him  to  his  room 
— the  lower  one  on  this  floor — and  give  us  no  end 
of  luncheon  immediately." 

"  And  who  is  Miss  Gerard  ?  "  said  Marvin,  sud- 
denly, later  in  the  afternoon,  when  they  were  driving 
back  from  a  pacifying  visit  to  Elliston's  simple- 
minded  patron,  who  had  been  slow  to  grasp  what  he 
called  the  young  architect's  "  chicken-fixings."  "  Is 
she  a  regular  incumbent,  or  only  a  '  casual '  like  me  ?  " 

"Oh,"  said  Elliston,  "she  holds  the  office  of 
Governess  Extraordinary  in  our  simple  household. 
She  came  to  teach  the  younger  ideas  how  to  shoot 
their  mother  tongue  and  make  ducks  and  drakes  of 
the  multiplication  table.  My  mother  petted  her — 
has  made  a  companion  of  her ;  and  now  we  do,  all 
of  us,  what  fate  and  Miss  Gerard  ordain." 


UNDER  THE  GREEN  ROOF  OF  TREES:1 


37 


"  Gerard,"  repeated  Marvin.  "  That  is  a  French 
name ! " 

"  Canadian,"  said  Elliston.  "  Her  father  was  a 
French  emigre,  I  believe ;  she  may  be,  for  aught  I 
know,  the  daughter  of  a  line  of  kings.  She  chose, 
however,  to  come  to  us  unheralded,  except  by  a 
certificate  of  good  character  from  her  last  place. 
We  live  in  a  practical  age." 

"Is  she  young ?"  Marvin  asked.    " Is  she  pretty ? " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  have  tried  to  tell  you  who 
she  is.  What  she  is,  you  must  decide  yourself.  To 
pass  judgment  upon  books  or  women,  you  know, 
is  dangerous;  I  do  it  only,  as  the  man  says  in 
Punch,  '  as  often  as  I  can  avoid.' " 

"  Very  fortunate,  too,  for  the  books  and  the 
women,"  Marvin  replied. 

And  now,  as  they  drew  up  before  the  house 
again,  a  woman,  in  simple  dark  blue  attire  that  fitted 
her  to  perfection,  advanced  to  meet  them  in  the 
door-way.  "  Fine  figure  at  all  events,"  said  Marvin 
to  himself,  noting  this  in  one  glance  out  of  the 
corners  of  his  eyes.  Then  he  was  formally  pre- 
sented, and,  looking  up,  received  his  first  impression 
of  Mademoiselle  Denise,  or,  as  she  was  commonly 
called,  Miss  Isa  Gerard. 

"About  thirty — yes,  all  of  that!  "he  mused,  as 
after  bidding  him  welcome  she  turned  to  Elliston 
again.  "  Brown  hair — wishy-washy — might  as  well 
be  no  color  at  all !  Fine  eyes, — gray  eyes.  She  is 
too  pale,  though,  and  her  lips  are  thin."  Then  she 
smiled,  and  he  thought  her  decidedly  pretty ;  but 


28  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

there  came  two  odd  little  wrinkles  at  the  corners  of 
her  mouth,  and  the  smile  seemed  to  make  her  look 
older  after  all.  "  Upon  my  word,  Jack's  right ! " 
was  his  last  reflection.  "  Young  or  pretty  ?  Hang 
me  if  I  know  !  " 

She  spoke  her  few  commonplace  words  in  a 
well  modulated  voice,  with  a  shade  of  self-con- 
sciousness in  its  expression;  of  French  accent, 
however,  no  trace  could  be  detected.  Then  she 
moved  gracefully  away  as  Mrs.  Elliston  appeared  at 
the  door  of  the  drawing-room.  Jack's  mother  was 
an  impressive  person,  who  had  been  a  beauty  in  her 
youth  and  was  handsome  still ;  she  was  of  the 
world,  worldly,  and  to  have  money  in  plenty  was 
the  highest  aim  in  life  she  had  ever  known.  This 
shallowness  of  soul  betrayed  itself  continually  in 
her  conversation  and  in  her  manners ;  even  when 
she  meant  to  be  most  cordial  she  seemed  to  be 
thinking  of  something  else.  She  was  delighted 
now  to  see  Mr.  Marvin  ;  it  gave  her  pleasure  always 
to  meet  her  son's  friends.  How  well  her  boy  Jack 
was  looking;  his  father  would  be  here  presently — 
indeed,  it  was  time  for  him  now — and  dinner  would 
be  ready  in  fifteen  minutes. 

Marvin  went  to  his  room  and  entered  the  hall  again 
just  as  Mr.  Elliston,  the  elder,  appeared  upon  the 
outer  threshold.  He  knew  Marvin  already  and  liked 
him ;  his  greeting,  therefore,  was  of  the  heartiest. 
They  would  keep  him  for  a  long  visit, — as  long  as 
he  could  endure  country  life.  Ah,  Mr.  Marvin 
liked  the  country !  Well,  it  was  refreshing  after  a 


«  UNDER  THE  GREEN  ROOF  OF  TREES." 


39 


busy  day  in  town — but  then  he  was  speaking  to  a 
man  of  leisure.  Did  Mr.  Marvin  know  what  it  was 
to  have  the  care  of  three  mill  corporations  in  trying 
times  like  these  ?  Enough  to  fag  a  man  out,  eh  ? 
Well,  he  was  fagged  out, — or  would  be  so,  at  least, 
but  for  this  breath  of  heaven's  own  air.  God  made 
the  country  and  man  made  the  town — present 
company  excepted,  man  was  an  ass !  His  hand- 
some face  looked  tired  and  care-worn,  Marvin 
thought;  but  he  was  apparently  in  the  best  of 
spirits,  with  a  kind  word  for  everybody,  and  did  not 
even  check  the  younger  children,  who  were  rushing 
about  in  the  peculiarly  frisky  mood  that  overcomes 
childhood  and  kittenhood  at  nightfall.  "  Ah  !  "  he 
said,  suddenly,  "  I  forgot  the  letters  that  I  found  at 
the  station,"  and  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  handful 
of  papers,  some  of  which  were  worn  and  tumbled. 
As  he  turned  these  over  hastily,  a  letter  fluttered 
down  to  the  floor  at  his  feet ;  Marvin,  being  nearest 
him,  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  and  saw  that  it  was 
addressed  to  Miss  Gerard,  who,  apparently  divining 
that  it  was  hers,  held  out  her  hand  with  a  smile. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  Mr.  Elliston,  before  Mar- 
vin could  deliver  the  letter,  "  I  want  you  to  make  a 
note  of  this  young  woman's  admirable  business 
training;  how  she  came  by  it  I  can't  imagine. 
Miss  Gerard,  you  must  know,  has  charge  of  our 
domestic  economy;  she  is  the  good  fairy  who 
writes  our  household  cheques  and  pays  the  bills. 
Invariably  she  encloses  a  stamped  envelope, 
addressed  as  you  see,  for  the  receipt ;  the  trades- 


40  XOSES  OF  SHADOW. 

men  bless  her,  so  do  we ;  you  should  see  her  desk 
with  its  files  and  pigeon-holes, — method,  method  to 
a  fault !  Miss  Gerard  should  have  been  a  man." 

The  subject  of  this  rather  doubtful  compliment 
colored  a  little  as  she  answered: 

"  And  you  expect  Mr.  Marvin  to  say  he's  glad 
I'm  not  one!  But  he  hardly  knows  me  yet." 
Marvin  had  been  staring  at  the  envelope,  which 
was  directed  in  an  irregular,  scrawling  hand. 
"  See ! "  she  added,  "  he  would  like  to  give  me 
lessons  in  penmanship — I  am  sure  of  it !  " 

"  No, "  said  Marvin,  "  I  like  the  hand.  There 
is  character  in  it." 

"  Are  you  trying  to  read  my  character  ? "  she 
asked.  "  It  will  take  too  long.  May  I  have  the 
letter,  please?  That  is,  if  you  have  fully  noted 
my  admirable  method." 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon — " 

"  Merci/"  she  said,  sweetly,  and  pocketed  the 
letter  instantly. 

"  Show  me  this  wonderful  desk  of  yours,"  con- 
tinued Marvin. 

"  They  say  you  are  a  man  of  leisure,"  she 
retorted,  "  it  would  not  interest  you." 

"  You  shall  see  it,  never  fear,"  said  Mr.  Elliston. 
"  But  dinner  is  ready — let  me  marshal  the  clan. 
Will  you  take  Mrs.  Elliston  in  ?  " 

The  children,  save  only  Miss  Annette,  a  silent 
little  maid  of  fifteen,  were  whisked  mysteriously 
away  to  the  regions  overhead,  and  they  sat  down 
six  at  table.  The  conversation,  conducted  by  the 


"  UNDER  THE  GREEN  ROOF  OF  TREES."      41 

Ellistons  at  first  with  a  scrupulous  deference  to 
their  guest,  soon  became  general  and  familiar ;  for 
Marvin,  though  he  could  talk  well,  was  rather 
prudent  in  speech  at  all  times;  so,  having  expressed 
in  due  course  his  well-ordered  opinions  upon  the 
state  of  the  weather,  the  crisis  in  European  affairs, 
the  negative  quality  of  the  morning  editorials  and 
the  literary  merit  of  the  latest  novel,  he  found  him- 
self ready  to  lend  a  receptive  ear  to  that  recital  of 
petty  domestic  events  in  which  every  household 
indulges  and  in  which  every  stray  bachelor  finds 
a  melancholy  charm. 

"  Where  have  you  been  all  day?  "  Jack  asked  of 
his  mother,  who  was  presiding  with  a  languid  grace 
that  Marvin  thought  attractive. 

"  Paying  visits,"  she  replied.  "  We  drove  first  to 
West  Winton.  The  new  hotel  is  perfect — Jack 
built  it,  you  know — "  she  said  in  parenthesis  to  his 
friend ;  "  the  view  from  the  piazza  is  lovely,  and  the 
table  excellent,  I  am  told." 

"  Who  on  earth  has  turned  up  there  ?  "  inquired 
Jack. 

"  Your  uncle  tried  it  for  three  days,  my  dear. 
But  we  did  not  find  him,  after  all ;  he  went  yester- 
day." 

This  eccentric  old  bachelor,  John  Musgrave,  was 
half-brother  to  Mrs.  Elliston,  and,  so  to  speak,  her 
main-stay.  His  name  was  always  on  her  lips,  and 
his  opinions,  however  unsound  or  antagonistic,  were 
golden  ones  to  her.  The  reason  was  simple 
enough.  Mr.  Musgrave  was  single,  at  sixty, and  she 


42  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

was  his  nearest  relative.  He  had  retired  from  active 
business  with  a  large  fortune ;  that  he  would  retire, 
too,  at  no  very  distant  date,  from  the  shifting  scenery 
of  this  work-a-day  world,  leaving  her  a  handsome 
allowance,  and  his  favorite  nephew,  her  son  Jack, 
the  remainder  of  his  vast  estate,  was  an  event  whose 
coming  shadow  she  had  schooled  herself  to  con- 
template with  the  utmost  serenity.  Like  the  royal 
personage  referred  to  in  "  Macbeth,"  this  sainted 
brother  "  died  every  day  he  lived,"  and  was  en- 
shrined as  often  in  his  half-sister's  heart.  She 
knew  just  what  depth  of  mourning  should  be 
ordered  for  him,  and  how  long  it  should  be  worn. 
Many  a  time,  in  fancy,  she  had  seated  herself  with 
bowed  head  and  clasped  hands  to  hear  the  reading 
of  that  last  will  and  testament,  with  its  earnest  of 
joy,  comfort  and  plenty  echoed  down  the  vale  of 
her  declining  years.  Yet  the  delight  of  such  an- 
ticipations she  never  admitted,  even  to  herself.  We 
have  turned  a  ray  of  magic  light  deep  down  into 
this  good  lady's  heart,  remember;  she  is  not  to  be 
blamed  for  what  we  could  not  see  without  it. 

"  The  jolly  old  bird ! "  said  Jack,  irreverently 
referring  to  his  uncle.  "  I  nodded  to  him  across 
the  club  dining-room,  last  night." 

"  Oh,  Jack !  and  he  hasn't  seen  you  for  a  fort- 
night !  You  should  have  spoken  to  him." 

"  Yes,  but  I  didn't,"  he  replied.  "  No  matter  ! 
Did  he  like  the  hotel  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Elliston.  "  At  least,  so  far 
as  one  can  judge !  What  did  he  say  about  it,  Isa?" 


"  UNDER  THE  GREEN  ROOF  OF  TREES:' 


43 


"Something  about  the  chutney,"  replied  Miss 
Gerard,  "  a  new  kind,  with  an  unpronounceable 
name, — I  can't  think  what  it  was." 

"  Less  photographic  than  usual,"  said  Mr.  Ellis- 
ton,  laughing. 

"  What  ?  "  she  asked,  innocently. 

"  Your  memory,  that's  all." 

"  Oh,"  she  answered,  "  I  have  no  memory  for 
disagreeable  things.  I  tried  chutney  once,  and 
disapproved  of  it." 

"  Quite  the  reverse  with  my  uncle,"  said  Jack. 
"  And  he  stood  the  hotel  three  days !  Upon  the 
whole  I  think  he  liked  it.  Go  on  with  the  after- 
noon's adventures." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Elliston,  "we  found  everybody 
at  home.  The  Whateleys  have  come — and  the 
Featherings  have  painted  their  house  a  hideous 
color — a  sort  of  pea-green, — and  Mrs.  Ambrose 
kept  us  to  luncheon — and,  oh,  Jack,  do  you  know 
that  Maitland  is  engaged  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack,  scowling.  "  Heard  of  it  last 
night." 

"Miss  Bromfield  is  very  charming,"  pursued  Mrs. 
Elliston.  "  What  she  saw  in  that  creature,  I  can't 
think." 

"What  he  saw  in  her  would  be  more  to  the 
point,"  said  Mr.  Elliston.  "  Many  a  woman  marries 
a  man  simply  because  he  asks  her." 

"  Nonsense !  "  returned  his  wife,  "  women  do 
nothing  of  the  kind.  If  that  were  true  there  would 
be  no  single  men.  As  to  Miss  Bromfield,  I  am 


44 


ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 


sorry  for  her;  but  of  course  she  knows  her  own 
mind.  Maitland  is  certainly  good-looking;  they 
will  make  a  handsome  couple.  Have  you  met  her, 
Mr.  Marvin  ?  " 

"  Miss  Bromfield  ?     Oh,  yes,— often." 

"  Ah,  then  it  was  an  inspiration  on  my  part,"  said 
Mrs.  Elliston. 

"  What  was  ?  "  asked  Jack. 

"  Mrs.  Ambrose  said  Helena  was  coming  there 
to-morrow,  so  I  asked  them  all  to  dine  here  the  day 
after;  and  Mr.  Marvin  and  Miss  Bromfield  are  old 
friends." 

"  Oh,"  said  Jack,  carelessly,  "  is  that  all  ?  "  And, 
dinner  being  nearly  over,  he  rose  and  went  in 
search  of  his  pet  cigars.  His  father  and  Miss 
Gerard  were  discussing  memory,  "the  warder  of  the 
brain;  "and  Mrs.  Elliston  still  harped  upon  Miss 
Bromfield  in  a  confidential  aside  to  Marvin. 

"  She  is  so  thoroughly  a  lady,"  was  the  key-note 
of  her  spoken  praise.  "  So  obviously  an  heiress," 
was  the  sign  written  on  the  score  within.  "  When 
she  came  home  from  Europe,  I  said  all  I  could  to 
make  Jack  fall  in  love  with  her.  Perhaps  I  said 
too  much.  I  am  afraid  you  have  a  bad  influence 
upon  Jack — they  say  you  are  not  a  marrying  man, 
Mr.  Marvin.  Don't  make  an  old  bachelor  of  him, 
I  implore  you ;  one  in  a  family  is  quite  enough. 
And  when  he  is  married,  I  hope  it  may  be  to  just 
such  a  dear,  sweet,  lovely,  refined  girl  as  Helena 
Bromfield — a  daughter-in-law  any  mother  might 
be  proud  of!  Now,  Mr.  Marvin,  don't  you  agree 


"  UNDER  THE  GREEN  ROOF  OF  TREES." 


45 


with  me?  Even  your  hard  heart  must  have  melted 
a  little ;  I  don't  see  what  you  young  men  are 
thinking  of!" 

"  Confound  all  women  !  "  Marvin  thought ;  and 
then  aloud,  in  dulcet  tones,  he  confessed  himself 
blind,  obstinate,  prejudiced, — in  short,  the  uncanny 
thing  his  hostess  desired  him  to  think  he  was. 

"  Now  then,  mother,  when  you  have  done  con- 
spiring," said  Jack,  "  here's  Marvin  aching  for  a 
smoke  and  too  polite  to  say  so." 

At  this  broad  hint  the  ladies  withdrew  hastily, 
and  brought  the  dinner,  begun  so  ceremoniously, 
to  a  lame  and  impotent  conclusion.  After  one 
cigar,  Mr.  Elliston  followed  them;  the  others 
smoked  on,  talking  lightly  and  freely  of  many 
things.  Marvin  was  in  capital  humor,  and  he 
spoke  of  Miss  Bromfield  once  or  twice  with  such 
an  assumption  of  nonchalance  that  all  Jack's  sus- 
picions of  the  night  before  were  put  to  flight. 
"What  an  ass  I  made  of  myself!"  he  thought. 
"  There  is  no  disappointment  in  this  case,  after  all ! " 
Then  he  proposed  a  game  of  billiards ;  and  after 
that  and  another  and  a  third,  they  went  back  to  the 
drawing-room  to  find  Mrs.  Elliston,  buried  in 
shawls  and  sofa-cushions,  dozing  over  a  novelette  in 
the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  while  Elliston  pere 
and  Miss  Gerard  were  finishing  a  game  of  chess 
that  had  lasted  all  the  evening.  In  a  few  moments, 
the  hostess  hoped  Mr.  Marvin  would  find  his  room 
comfortable,  bade  him  good-night  and  glided  away. 

This  little  talk  so  confused  Mr.  Elliston  that  his 


46 


ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 


opponent  quietly  checkmated  him  forthwith.  "  Bless 
my  soul !  "  he  cried,  drawing  out  his  watch.  "  Half- 
past  ten !  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late !  Jack, 
lock  up  the  house.  Good-night,  everybody!"  and 
he  was  gone. 

"And  will  you  light  my  candle,  please  ?"  said 
Miss  Gerard. 

They  went  out  into  the  hall,  where  the  candle- 
sticks of  various  designs  stood  on  a  little  round 
table  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  She  chose  a  silver 
lily  leaf  and  blossom,  with  a  curling  stem  for  the 
handle  and  a  bud  for  the  extinguisher;  but  the 
candle  had  never  before  been  lighted,  and  as  she 
passed  a  window  on  the  second  landing  a  puff  of  the 
night  wind  blew  out  the  spluttering  flame.  She 
gave  a  little  shriek,  and  Jack  went  up  to  the  rescue. 

"  I  am  so  afraid  of  the  dark !  "  she  said,  as  the 
taper  was  rekindled.  The  light  shone  full  in  her 
face,  and  she  looked  down  at  Marvin,  smiling  and 
shivering  a  little. 

"  We  stand  ready  to  defend  you,"  he  responded. 

"Just  like  you  men  !  "  she  returned.  "  You  are 
always  ready  to  do  anything — even  to  turn  night 
into  day !  "  And  she  went  away  laughing,  half  to 
herself,  as  it  seemed. 

Jack  lighted  another  candle  and  led  the  way  to 
Marvin's  chamber  on  the  ground  floor.  He  satisfied 
himself  that  the  room  was  in  order,  gave  Marvin 
the  light  and  turned  to  go. 

"  Jack ! "  said  his  friend,  abruptly.  "  She  is 
pretty ! " 


"  UNDER  THE  GREEN  ROOF  OF  TREES."   47 

"  Miss  Gerard  ?  "  said  the  other.  "  Yes — per- 
haps." He  had  reached  the  door,  but  he  came 
back.  "  Does  she  remind  you  of  anybody  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Marvin,  "  not  that  I  remember."  At 
that  moment  a  little  night-moth  fluttered  into  the 
flame  and  fell  dead  on  the  candlestick  in  his  hand. 

"  There  !  "  said  Jack;  "  that  is  very  like  her !  " 

"  Oh  !  "  Marvin  answered,  with  a  laugh  ;  "  she 
will  die  harder." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack ;  "  I  meant  the  flame.  Good- 
night." And  the  door  closed  behind  him. 

Now,  in  the  dead  of  night,  there  occurred  a 
curious  thing  resembling  a  dream,  though  it  cer- 
tainly was  not  one.  Marvin,  without  knowing  why 
or  how,  suddenly  found  himself  wide  awake  after 
an  interval  of  forgetfulness,  dreamless  and  profound. 
He  held  his  breath  for  a  moment,  looking  and 
listening  with  senses  sharpened  by  the  darkness  as 
a  blind  man's  are.  There  was  no  moon ;  and,  just 
outside  his  window,  a  strip  of  veranda,  over- 
shadowed by  a  clambering  vine,  made  the  gloom 
of  night  oppressive.  The  window  was  open ;  the 
light  breeze  brought  in  a  faint,  soft  murmur  of  the 
vine-leaves,  that  was  broken  all  at  once  by  the 
sound  of  voices,  pitched  low,  almost  to  a  whisper, 
but  evidently  close  at  hand.  Marvin's  heart  beat 
violently ;  a  strange  numbness  stole  over  him,  and 
for  a  few  seconds  he  lay  there  powerless  to  move. 
Then,  as  the  thought  of  a  desperate  hand  to  hand 
struggle  with  midnight  marauders  took  definite 


4g  K OSES  OF  SHADOW. 

shape  in  his  mind,  he  determined  to  face  his  dis- 
agreeable duty  manfully  without  delay.  He  started 
up  in  bed ;  then  waited  again,  this  time  in  amused 
surprise;  for  one  of  the  disturbing  voices  was  un- 
mistakably a  woman's.  And,  hark!  Yes,  surely, 
it  was  the  voice  of  Miss  Gerard.  Not  a  word  could 
be  distinguished,  but,  as  if  to  make  assurance 
double  sure,  there  came  again  that  low,  sweet,  half- 
abstracted  laugh  of  hers,  just  as  he  had  heard  it  on 
the  stairs.  Then  silence.  Then  the  rustling  of  the 
leaves.  He  waited  and  waited,  hoping  for  some 
further  sound  or  sign  ;  but  there  was  nothing.  He 
rose  at  last,  crossed  the  room  and  looked  out  upon 
darkness,  night,  and  the  stars, — that  was  all.  He 
lighted  a  match,  consulted  his  watch,  and  found 
that  it  was  nearly  half-past  twelve.  "  Not  so  very 
late,  after  all,"  he  said,  and  so  went  back  to  bed  and 
slept  till  morning. 

Six  o'clock,  and  the  sun  already  high  in  heaven ! 
A  little  brown  bird  flew  down  to  perch  as  near  the 
window  as  he  dared,  and  proclaim  it  in  a  merry 
matin  song.  To  lie  in  bed  another  moment  Marvin 
found  impossible;  and  when  he  was  fairly  up  and 
dressed,  there  was  no  staying  in-doors  apart  from 
all  that  fragrant  sunshine  with  no  brick-and-mortar 
taint  in  it.  Marvin  remembered  that  he  knew 
nothing  yet  of  the  Elliston  domain.  Now  was  the 
very  time  to  explore  it.  So  he  strode  out  upon  the 
lawn  that  stretched  away  before  him  to  a  moss- 
grown  wall  under  a  row  of  maples ;  on  one  side 


«  UNDER  THE  GREEN  ROOF  OF  TREES." 


49 


was  the  road  and  the  hedge,  with  an  old  mulberry 
tree  overhanging  the  house.  He  waited  in  the 
shade  a  moment,  looking  up  at  the  chamber 
windows ;  the  nearest  one  was  wide  open,  and  on 
its  inner  ledge  stood  the  silver  lily  that  he  had  last 
seen  in  Miss  Gerard's  hand ;  but  now,  the  candle 
was  burned  low, — so  low  that  the  extinguisher  upon 
it  almost  touched  the  socket.  "  She  is  afraid  of  the 
dark,"  he  said  to  himself,  laughing.  And,  suddenly 
reminded  of  his  waking  dream,  "  What  was  she 
doing,  then,  down  here  in  the  dark?  "he  thought; 
"  Who  was  with  her  ?  Was  she  here  at  all  ? " 
He  went  back  to  the  veranda.  A  little  rustic  bench 
stood  there,  pushed  back,  in  an  angle  of  the  wall ; 
but  thick  dust  lay  upon  it  and  the  dust  was  undis- 
turbed. He  turned  away  and  caught  the  gleam  of 
something  white — a  paper,  dropped  by  chance  into 
a  tangle  of  the  vines.  An  open  letter,  in  Miss 
Gerard's  handwriting.  Before  he  was  aware  of  it, 
he  had  read  one  line  :  "  You  do  not  care  an  atom 
for  me  if — "  What  cowardly  thing  was  this  that 
he  was  doing?  Reading  words  he  had  no  right 
to  see.  Contemptible  !  He  thrust  the  letter  into 
his  pocket,  blaming,  as  man  will,  the  innocent  cause 
of  his  misdeed.  Curse  Miss  Gerard  !  He  wished 
he  had  never  seen  her,  and  went  his  way. 

At  the  other  side  of  the  lawn,  hedged  in  by 
dwarf  evergreens,  was  a  mound  of  turf  with  the 
marble  figure  of  a  woman  poised  upon  its  summit; 
a  mild  and  ineffective  piece  pf  work,  that  Marvin 
would  have  taken  for  a  family  portrait,  but  that  the, 
4 


ijO  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

young  person  bore  a  sickle  and  a  sheaf  of  grain. 
Avoiding  the  stables  that  lay  just  behind  the  house, 
he  went  on  through  a  bit  of  old-fashioned  garden, 
all  tulips  and  pansies  and  edgings  of  smooth,  shiny 
box,  coming  at  length  to  a  garden  of  Nature's  own 
tending — a  wilderness  of  long  grass,  buttercups, 
clover,  daisies,  with  here  and  there  a  wild  geranium, 
out  before  its  time.  In  the  midst  a  gray  rock  rose 
like  a  mammoth  porpoise  curling  over  in  a  summer 
sea.  Marvin  gained  this  stony  haven  after  a  plunge 
through  the  morning  dew,  and  saw  immediately 
before  him  a  loop  of  the  inevitable  river — so 
narrow  here  that  the  trees  met  over  it,  and  the 
sluggish  water,  chameleon-like,  had  taken  the  color 
of  their  leaves.  He  pressed  forward  through  the 
clinging  underbrush  to  a  narrow  path  upon  the 
river's  brink.  Following  this,  a  few  feet  up  the 
stream  he  discovered  a  birch-bark  canoe,  chained 
to  the  trunk  of  a  tree  that  grew  close  upon  the 
water.  The  very  thing  for  him.  But  the  chain  was 
securely  locked,  and  there  was  no  paddle.  He 
knelt  down,  pulled  the  canoe  in  and  looked  at  it 
wistfully ;  then,  at  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  had 
grown  to  be  familiar,  he  dropped  the  chain,  walked 
on  rapidly,  and  at  a  turn  in  the  path  found  Miss 
Gerard  gracefully  reclining  upon  a  low  wooden 
bench,  with  an  open  book  in  her  hand.  She  had 
been  reading  aloud,  to  herself,  apparently — for  she 
was  alone. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  stammered. 

"  For  nothing,"  she  said,  hardly  changing   her 


«  UNDER  THE  GREEN  ROOF  OF  TREES."   5  T 

position.  "  I  rejoice  to  find  you  are  no  sluggard. 
Is  it  not  a  lovely  morning  ?  " 

"  You  were  studying,"  said  Marvin,  who  had  not 
yet  recovered  from  the  small  surprise. 

"  No, — only  reading  aloud.  I  always  do  that 
when  I  grapple  with  a  strange  tongue.  It  improves 
one's  accent.  I  found  this  in  the  library.  See,  it's 
very  light  reading."  And  she  handed  him  the  book. 

It  was  a  play  of  Calderon, — "  Life's  a  Dream ! " 
Marvin  read  the  title  aloud, — "  La  Vida  Es  Sueno!" 

"Ah,"  she  said,  "you  speak  Spanish  !  " 

"  I  have  been  in  Spain,"  he  answered.  "  I  can 
ask  for  supper  and  a  night's  lodging — that  is  all." 

"  You  are  very  accomplished — for  a  man  !  "  said 
Miss  Gerard.  "  I  shall  make  use  of  you.  Correct 
my  inflections — they  are  wrong,  I  know." 

She  took  the  book  again,  and  began  to  read. 

"  Hold,  enough !  "  cried  Marvin,  desperately. 
"  Have  pity  on  my  ignorance.  This  is  worse  than 
Greek  to  me." 

"  It  is  of  no  use,  then,"  she  said,  laughing.  "  I 
have  forgotten  all  I  ever  knew." 

"  You  have  been  in  Spain,"  he  answered. 

"  No ;  there  were  some  Spanish  books  at  the 
convent  where  I  went  to  school,  and  one  of  the 
sisters  taught  me  a  little.  I  found  this  play,  and 
the  name  attracted  me.  '  Life's  a  Dream.'  A 
good  subject  for  a  comedy — or  a  tragedy,  either, 
isn't  it?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Marvin,  "  I  suppose  so.  I  don't  care 
much  for  the  theatre." 


52  R  OSES  OF  SHADO  W. 

"  Of  course.  I  said  last  night  there  was  no  poetry 
in  you ! "  She  shut  the  book  rather  impatiently, 
and,  rising,  took  a  few  steps  down  the  path  away 
from  him. 

Marvin  laughed.  "How  women  jump  at  their 
conclusions  !  "  said  he. 

"  To  be  sure  they  do — and  they  are  right  nine 
times  in  ten,"  she  answered,  turning  on  him.  "  A 
man  hesitates  and  hesitates — takes  a  step  forward  or 
back,  as  the  case  may  be,  and  returns  to  his  stand- 
point, after  all.  '  He  who  deliberates  is  lost.'  That 
proverb  was  made  for  men — the  pronoun  proves  it." 

This  hit  him  harder  than  he  liked  to  admit,  so 
he  at  once  asserted  that  she  was  all  wrong.  "  And 
as  for  poetry,"  he  went  on,  "  why  must  it  go  smirk- 
ing about  before  the  foot-lights,  plastered  with 
rouge?  Am  I  to  be  written  down  a  Philistine, 
because  to  canvas  and  green  fire  I  prefer  the  real 
thing?  The  world  may  be  a  stage,  but  there  are 
no  scenes  like  this  in  any  theatre." 

"  This  is  well  enough,"  she  said.  "  If  you  like 
it,  I  can  do  better  for  you.  What  time  is  it  ? " 
Marvin  showed  her  his  watch.  "  Quarter  of  seven. 
We  shall  not  breakfast  for  an  hour.  Come !  " 

They  walked  back  to  the  canoe ;  she  took  a  key 
from  her  pocket  and  told  Marvin  to  unlock  the 
chain ;  then  she  produced  the  paddle  from  its 
hiding-place  under  the  bank,  and,  steadying  the 
frail  bark,  bade  him  jump  in. 

"  But  you — "  he  said,  hesitating. 

"  Oh,  I  must  be  your  pilot.     I  know  the  stream, 


«  UNDER  THE  GREEN  ROOF  OF  TREES." 


53 


and  there  are  ugly  shallows ;  besides,  I  would  not 
trust  you  with  the  paddle — I  am  not  sure  that  you 
can  use  one." 

"  You  are  very  accomplished — for  a  woman ! " 
Marvin  said,  laughing,  and  obeyed.  "  Where  are 
we  going?  "  he  asked  as  they  drifted  away. 

"  There  is  a  great  rock  at  the  next  turn  called 
'  The  Giant's  Skull,'  and  beyond  that — "  she 
paused,  for  they  were  sweeping  now  over  long 
grass  that  seemed  to  float  upon  the  water,  and  she 
was  steering  very  cautiously. 

"Beyond  that?"  repeated  Marvin,  when  all  was 
clear  again. 

"  Beyond   that   lies   the   world,"   she   answered. 

Then  for  a  few  moments  they  went  smoothly  on 
in  silence,  while  Marvin  watched  the  dripping  blade 
of  the  paddle  as  it  rose  and  fell  quietly  under  the 
guidance  of  her  practised  hands. 

"  Admirable  !  "  he  said  at  length.  "  May  I  ask 
where  you  acquired  this  uncommon  skill  ?  " 

"  In  Canada,"  said  Miss  Gerard.  "  But  this  is 
nothing ;  here  there  are  no  rapids.  See  !  "  and  she 
turned  the  canoe  toward  the  opposite  shore,  where 
a  huge  granite  boulder  lay,  half  in  the  water,  gray 
and  dark  under  a  forest  of  young  maple  leaves. 

"Curious!"  said  Marvin.  "I  wonder  if  those 
seams  in  it  are  glacier  lines,  and  if  it  stood  here 
once  on  some  great  pedestal  of  ice,  that  slowly 
dripped  away." 

"  It  has  a  hideous  likeness  to  a  skull,"  said  his 
companion.  "  Stone  is  only  earth  condensed ;  per- 


54  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

haps  some  giant  really  did  carry  that  for  a  time 
upon  his  shoulders.  He  would  have  been  a  man 
worth  seeing ! " 

"  One  with  poetry  in  his  soul,  I  suppose,"  pur- 
sued Marvin,  derisively. 

"  No,"  she  replied ;  "  a  man  to  be  afraid  of. 
There  are  none  now." 

"  Musset's  trouble,"  said  Marvin.  "  You  are 
come  too  late  into  a  world  that  is  too  old.  Give 
me  time,  though.  I'll  be  as  alarming  as  I  can." 

"  You  are  growing  poetical  already,"  she  said, 
with  a  merry  little  splash  of  the  paddle.  "  I  see  all 
this  is  having  its  effect  upon  you." 

"  Well,  I  like  it,"  he  admitted.  "  I  am  only  a 
poor  fellow  of  to-day — not  a  giant  of  the  stone 
age." 

They  were  drifting  now,  in  clear,  deep  water, 
along  a  narrow  reach  of  river  toward  a  wide  gap  in 
the  trees  upon  the  left  bank.  As  they  came  into  the 
open  sunlight,  Miss  Gerard,  with  a  swift  stroke  or 
two,  brought  the  canoe  close  up  against  the  farther 
shore  under  a  group  of  pines.  She  sprang  out, 
and  Marvin  followed  her  up  a  steep  slope  over 
sticks  and  stones  and  brambles,  till  they  reached  a 
little  wooden  belvedere,  roughly  built  of  bark- 
covered  boughs.  "  There ! "  she  said ;  "  I  promised 
you  the  world,  and  it  lies  before  you." 

He  looked  down  over  a  wide,  green  valley, 
broadening  away  like  a  great  curvilinear  triangle 
with  the  horizon  line  for  base.  The  river  lost  itself 
in  a  wooded  hill-side,  after  winding  for  a  mile  or 


"  UNDER  THE  GREEN  ROOF  OF  TREES: 


55 


more  through  pale  meadow-lands  and  freshly 
ploughed  fields  of  a  rich  chocolate  color ;  higher  up 
along  its  banks,  half-buried  in  their  feathery  elm 
trees,  stood  isolated  farm-houses,  mere  spots  of  red 
and  white  in  the  landscape ;  farther  on,  rose  the 
roofs  and  spires  of  a  small  inland  town  ;  and  beyond, 
where  the  falling  curtain  of  blue  sky  looked  worn 
and  faded,  there  hung  a  soft,  smoky  cloud,  under 
which,  at  the  river's  mouth,  lay  the  city,  undis- 
cernible. 

But  this  enchanting  prospect  and  the  light  speech 
of  his  companion  seemed  to  produce  upon  Marvin 
an  effect,  the  reverse  of  that  she  had  intended.  He 
stood  there  scowling,  and  the  longer  he  looked  the 
gloomier  he  became.  "  If  the  world  were  all  like 
that ! "  he  said  at  last,  in  a  low  tone,  unaware  perhaps 
of  its  sombreness,  until  her  mocking  answer  roused 
him. 

"  So ! "  she  said ;  "  you  are  a  man  with  a 
sorrow.  Oh,  don't  deny  it !  To  think  that  there  is 
poetry  in  you,  after  all !  Who  is  she  ?  " 

He  was  alert  enough  now.  "  The  question  of 
Vidocq  ! "  he  answered.  "  Yet  Vidocq  failed  some- 
times ;  and  so,  it  seems,  does  Miss  Gerard.  My 
sorrow  is  a  poor,  commonplace  thing, — not  even  my 
own;  for  it  is  only  the  melancholy  doubtand  wonder 
that  comes  to  every  man,  when  he  has  brushed  away 
the  first  bloom  of  life  and  has  discovered  the  hard  rind 
underneath.  Doubt  of  the  future  !  Wonder  that 
the  past  should  have  added  his  enigma  to  all  the 
unsolved  riddles  of  the  world!" 


ij  6  X  OSES  OF  SHAD  0  W. 

She  believed,  or  pretended  to  believe.  "  Why  was 
I  born  ?  "  she  said,  "  Is  that  all  ?  Then  give  the 
riddle  up.  '  Take  the  cash,  and  let  the  credit  go.' 
The  world  is  what  we  make  (5f  it  ourselves." 

"  And  afterward  ?  " 

"  Afterward  ?  That  is  rubbish.  There  is  no 
afterward.  If  I  die  here,  I  am  put  into  the  ground. 
If  I  fall  into  that  river,  I  am  swept  out  to  sea, — to- 
morrow, it  may  be.  No  matter  !  To  day  is  mine — 
all  mine.  No  one  shares  in  it." 

"  Every  man  for  himself,  and  no  devil  to  take  the 
hindmost !  "  said  Marvin.  "  That  seems  to  be  your 
principle  of  action.  Many  of  us  live  by  it,  perhaps, 
without  saying  so.  All  very  well  for  one,  but  how 
about  the  rest  ?  Do  you  rule  out  me — and  others  ?  " 

"  Others  !  "  she  said,  almost  fiercely.  "  Let  others 
take  care  of  themselves — I  have  done  it — I  mean  to 
do  it !  Who  was  it  that  compared  mankind  to  a 
basket  of  vipers,  each  struggling  to  be  uppermost  ? 
I  am  in  that  basket !  " 

"  At  the  top  ?  "  asked  Marvin,  lightly. 

"  No  thanks  to  any  one,  wherever  I  may  be  !  " 
Her  harsh,  unfeminine  tone  grated  unpleasantly 
upon  Marvin's  ear.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
said  nothing.  Then  she  added,  more  softly,  "  Don't 
you  think  we  have  gone  far  enough  ?  Let  us  paddle 
back  in  our  canoe." 

"  Not  our  own,"  he  suggested. 

"Yes,  mine,"  she  replied,  with  a  little  toss  of 
her  head  in  the  probable  direction  of  the  Elliston 
abode.  "  They  gave  it  to  me." 


"UNDER  THE  GREEN  ROOF  OF  TREES." 


57 


"  Then  you  must  permit  me  to  be  grateful,"  said 
Marvin  ;  "  even  though  gratitude  is  undreamt  of  in 
your  philosophy." 

She  paid  no  heed  to  the  implied  reproof,  and,  as 
Marvin  insisted  upon  taking  his  trick  at  the  helm, 
her  mind  had  no  room  now  for  abstract  questions. 
They  retraced  their  course  upon  the  river,  while  she 
supplied  him  with  steering  directions  and  condemned 
his  awkwardness,  admitting,  however,  that  the  mas- 
culine biceps  was  not  without  a  certain  efficacy  in 
stemming  a  current.  So  they  reached  the  mooring 
safely  and  strolled  leisurely  up  through  the  grounds, 
lingering  at  first,  because  it  was  Miss  Gerard's  daily 
task  to  provide  a  garland  for  the  breakfast  table. 
She  would  have  only  wild  flowers,  she  said,  and 
sent  Marvin  deep  into  the  long,  wet  grass  to  pick 
them.  It  was  not  till  they  were  fairly  out  upon  the 
lawn  and  in  sight  of  the  house,  that  he  remembered 
her  letter  carefully  stowed  away  in  his  pocket. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  he,  "  I  have  found  something 
— something  of  yours.  Guess  what  it  is  !  " 

"  I  am  no  Yankee,"  she  replied ;  "  and  I  have 
missed  nothing ;  if  the  thing  is  of  value,  keep  it, — 
at  your  disposition,  as  Senor  Calderon  here  would 
say." 

"  It  is  of  no  value,"  he  rejoined ;  "  at  least,  to  me. 
See  !  "  And  he  produced  the  letter. 

All  the  color  left  her  face  ;  even  her  lips  looked 
absolutely  bloodless. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  ?  "  she  asked ;  and  the 
simple  question  seemed  an  effort. 


58  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

"  Here — on  the  lawn,  this  morning."  And  he 
pointed  to  the  very  place,  down  under  the  veranda 
in  the  vines. 

She  took  the  letter  and  turned  it  slowly  over  and 
over,  looking  hard  at  the  folded  page. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  said  at  last  without  raising  her  eyes. 

"  Well  ?  "  repeated  Marvin. 

"  What  is  your  price,  I  mean.  They  say  all  men 
have  one." 

"  Price !  For  what  ?  "  he  asked,  hardly  able  to 
believe  his  ears. 

"  The  contents  of  this  and  your  knowledge  of 
them, — your  ignorance  of  the  knowledge." 

Marvin  drew  himself  up.  "  I  am  no  barbarian  !  " 
he  said,  coldly.  "  You  forget,  I  am  not  a  man  to  be 
afraid  of, — nor  am  I  a  thief !  " 

She  looked  him  full  in  the  face.  "  You  could 
pick  this  up  and  see  nothing!  That  is  hard  to 
believe." 

Marvin  bit  his  lip.  "  No !  "  he  said.  "  I  saw  one 
line — only  one !  But  I  am  none  the  wiser ;  if  you 
have  a  secret,  it  is  safe." 

"  On  your  honor,"  she  asked,  "  is  that  true  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  he  answered,  angrily,  "  must  I  swear  it?  " 

"  No,"  she  returned.  "  I  believe  you — and  I  beg 
your  pardon  for  my  rudeness.  The  letter  does  con- 
tain a  secret, — or  rather,  it  alludes  to  one, — a  certain 
family  matter  that  I  could  not  bear  to  have  known. 
I  wrote  it  last  night.  It  must  have  blown  down 
from  my  window.  Please  say  you  forgive  me." 

Her  eyes  met  his  with  a  gentle,  pleading  look ; 


"  UNDER  THE  GREEN  ROOF  OF  TREES." 


59 


she  held  out  her  hand  and  Marvin  took  it,  though 
he  only  half  believed  her.  "  Of  course,"  said  he. 

"  Without  malice  ?  "  she  asked,  for  his  tone  was 
not  all  that  she  desired. 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  a  brute  ?  "  was  his  blunt 
rejoinder. 

"  I  think  I  am  half  afraid  of  you.  Without 
malice  ?  "  she  insisted. 

"  Without  malice ! "  he  answered  heartily,  and  they 
went  into  the  house. 


IV. 

HEART'S-EASE  AND  RUE. 

THE  morning  Jack  and  his  friend  devoted  to  a 
long  ramble  about  the  country.  A  few  steps 
from  the  house  they  plunged  into  lovely  woods, 
rich  with  the  native  American  wildness  that  all  the 
jewel-like  greenery  of  England  can  not  match;  and 
so  they  might  have  gone  on  for  hours.  But  walk- 
ing without  an  object  Jack  thought  slow  work,  and 
before  long  they  took  to  the  open  fields,  scrambled 
up  the  rough  side  of  White  Knob,  saw  Monadnock 
and  returned  by  the  high  road.  In  the  afternoon 
came  a  formal  drive  with  the  ladies;  and,  at  dinner- 
time, when  Mr.  Elliston  appeared,  tired  and  dusty, 
with  the  look  of  the  town  in  his  face,  he  held 
among  his  letters  one  for  his  guest.  Why  did  Mar- 
vin's cheek  wear  a  conscious  color  when  he  took  it? 
To  be  sure,  the  handwriting  was  Miss  Bromfield's; 
yet  it  was  a  mere  line,  thanking  him  for  his  beauti- 
ful flowers;  rather  coldly  and  distantly  worded,  he 
thought — and,  the  moment  he  was  alone,  tore  the 
thing  to  atoms.  He  rejoiced  when  a  game  of  whist 
— ladies'  whist — was  proposed  in  the  evening ;  for 
this  gave  him  an  opportunity  to  be  distrait  without 
much  fear  of  discovery.  So  long  as  he  made  no 
60 


HEARTHS-EASE  AND  RUE.  §\ 

revoke,  his  partner  could  but  smilingly  defer  to  his 
superior  skill ;  and  he  revoked  but  once,  even  then 
detecting  it  himself  in  time.  The  truth  was,  he 
could  not  forget  that  he  must  meet  Miss  Bromfield 
on  the  morrow,  and  he  dreaded  this  meeting;  he 
felt  that  he  would  rather  run  away;  that  his  lot 
would  be  happier,  if  they  might  never  meet  again. 
But  the  first  was,  of  course,  impossible;  the  second 
highly  improbable,  to  say  the  least.  So,  after  all,  he 
could  only  lie  awake  in  the  dark  and  curse  his  luck. 
Even  that  resource,  too,  was  soon  denied  him ;  for 
he  slept,  and  this  time  his  sleep  was  undisturbed. 

Day  came,  the  day  of  the  dinner,  as  he  could 
not  help  reflecting  the  moment  he  awoke.  But  in 
that  contemplative  shaving-time  when  poets  are 
said  to  write  their  best  verses  and  all  men's 
thoughts  are  purest  and  freshest,  he  grappled  with 
himself  and  took  a  firm  resolve,  to  wit :  that  this 
ill  weed,  this  parasite  so  lately  fastened  upon  his 
heart,  should  be  rooted  out  and  should  trouble  him 
no  more.  He  could  not  have  the  woman ;  his  long- 
ing for  her  was  unmanly — the  desire  of  a  child  for 
the  moon.  Twice  already  he  had  come  dangerously 
near  to  setting  himself  up  as  a  target  for  criticism — 
a  laughing-stock  of  fools.  Another  and  severer 
ordeal  awaited  him;  and  this  once  passed,  he  could 
walk  unchallenged  among  his  fellow-men.  Would 
not  the  hidden  wound  itself  begin  to  heal  at  the 
touch  of  the  friendly  cauterizing  iron?  He  answered, 
Yes.  And  girded  his  loins  for  the  encounter,  hope- 
ful, defiant,  strong. 


52  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

His  spirit  shone  through  him  at  the  breakfast 
table,  where  he  conversed  far  more  freely  than  was 
his  wont  at  that  hour  of  the  morning.  "  Such  a 
pity  he  is  not  a  marrying  man,"  Mrs.  Elliston 
thought.  "His  manners  are  most  agreeable.  I 
wonder  if  something  can't  be  done  about  it."  Then 
she  thought  of  her  boy  Jack  and  sighed ;  then  of 
her  impending  dinner-party  and  sighed  again.  Just 
at  this  moment  up  there  came  a  message  from  the 
cook,  to  the  effect  that  certain  indispensable  pro- 
visions, prime  factors  in  every  household,  were 
suddenly  ascertained  to  be  "out."  Mrs.  Elliston 
held  up  her  hands  in  dismay.  What  was  to  be 
done?  Without  the  missing  quantities  no  dinner 
could  be  given  at  all, — and  this  was  the  eleventh 
hour  ! 

"  It  ought  to  be  called  the  cooks'  hour,"  said  Jack, 
"for  they  are  always  out  in  it." 

"  Oh,  Jack,  how  can  you  !  They  serve  us  shame- 
fully in  the  village, — nothing  there  is  fit  to  be 
eaten." 

"  Now,  mother,  did  you  ever  see  a  farce  called, 
'A  Bull  in  a  China  Shop  ? '  " 

"  Never ;  and  what  has  that  to  do  with — " 

"  Everything !  Its  hero  is  one  Bagshot.  Delight- 
ful character !  Ever  ready  in  every  emergency  with, 
'  I  am  here — trust  in  me — all  is  not  lost ! '  No  fam- 
ily should  be  without  its  Bagshot, — in  me  behold 
yours !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  say  but  one  word — Waterside." 


HEARTHS-EASE  AND  RUE.  63 

"  Your  hotel !  To  be  sure ;  I  never  thought  of 
it!" 

"  Marvin  has  not  been  there ;  we  talk  of  driving 
that  way  this  very  morning.  Give  me  a  list  in 
black  and  white  and  you  are  saved." 

"  I  will  write  the  list,"  said  Miss  Gerard. 

So  the  soul  of  Mrs.  Elliston  was  disquieted  no 
longer,  and  the  two  men  were  despatched  upon 
their  errand  of  supply.  As  they  drove  into  the 
yard  of  the  Waterside  Hotel,  Jack  was  respectfully 
saluted  by  a  groom  who  stood  at  the  porch  holding 
a  thorough-bred  horse  that  seemed  impatient  for  his 
rider. 

"Ah,  Jerry,"  said  Jack,  "  is  that  you  ?  " 

He  had  spoken  to  the  horse,  who  turned  his 
brown  eye  full  upon  him,  and  then  graciously 
wrinkled  up  his  nose  for  a  caress. 

"  Mr.  Musgrave  is  here,  then  ?  "  Jack  said  to  the 
groom. 

"Yes,  sir;  he  comes  and  goes  like,  as  you  might 
say.  And  Jerry,  here,  is  eating  his  head  off,  sir, 
mostly." 

Jack  laughed.  "What  a  queer  old  bird  he  is! 
You  know  him,  don't  you  ?  "  This  to  Marvin. 

"Oh,  yes,"  his  friend  replied;  "by  sight;  as  every- 
body does."  The  fact  was  that  at  the  club  he  had 
been  honored  more  than  once  with  an  introduction 
to  Mr.  Musgrave.  But  that  person  of  note  was 
always  meeting  so  many  people.  His  circle  of 
acquaintance  was  filled  already,  and  the  young 
men  were  coming  along  so  fast.  How  could  he 


64 


ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 


undertake  to  recognize  a  new  face  in  the  throng 
until  he  knew  that  the  effort  would  be  worth  his 
while  ? 

Forth  he  came  now,  grave,  stately,  yellow  and 
in  faultless  riding  trim;  he  wore  no  beard  upon  his 
sallow  face;  his  thick  hair,  a  sable  silvered,  was 
cut  close,  affording  scanty  shelter  for  his  rather 
large,  prominent  and  decidedly  ugly  ears;  his  eyes, 
large,  too,  and  black  and  piercing,  were  set  deep 
under  brows  regular  as  lines  of  charcoal ;  he  was 
very  tall,  and  his  erect  figure  bore  lightly  its  sixty- 
years'  burden ;  but  two  great  wrinkles  on  each  side 
of  his  nose  accentuated  that  aquiline  feature,  and 
his  neck  was  unmistakably  old. 

He  was  very  fond  of  Jack,  and  bade  him  what 
was  meant  for  an  affectionate  good-morning;  then 
he  turned  a  cold,  glittering  eye  upon  Marvin,  draw- 
ing on  his  glove  the  while. 

"  Good  morning !  "  Jack  returned.  "  No  sort  of 
notion  you  were  here!  Mr.  Marvin — my  uncle, 
Mr.  Musgrave," 

"Ah  !"  said  the  great  man,  whose  bronzed  skin 
and  metallic  inflexibility  gave  him  an  East  Indian, 
heathenish  look  like  an  idol's;  and  without  another 
syllable  he  graciously  deposited  two  delicate  gloved 
fingers  in  Marvin's  cordially  proffered  palm. 

Marvin  was  anything  but  "emotional";  yet  his 
blood  tingled  when  he  found  that  his  hand  thus 
grasped  a  deliberate  insult  He  felt  like  doubling 
up  his  fist  and  striking  out  with  it  straight  from  the 
shoulder;  but,  of  course,  he  had  no  thought  of 


HEARTHS-EASE  AND  RUE.  65 

doing  so.  He  only  turned  away  and  smiled  at  his 
own  irritation.  Meanwhile,  the  man  of  millions,  if 
not  of  manners,  springing  gracefully  into  the  saddle 
rode  away,  only  waiting  to  bid  Jack  tell  his  mother 
that  he  should  join  them  at  dinner  that  evening. 
Upon  the  delivery  of  this  message  at  the  luncheon 
table  the  last  cloud  upon  Mrs.  Elliston's  spirits 
cleared  away. 

"  Your  uncle  has  come  back  ?  How  very  fortunate ! 
I  was  in  the  depths  at  being  caught  with  a  vacant 
place  at  table.  Mr.  Ambrose — old  Mr.  Ambrose 
— is  called  away  on  business.  Just  like  him — at  the 
last  moment !  Now  your  uncle — " 

"  Will  make  these  odds  all  even,"  said  Jack. 
"  Good  !  He  is  better  company  than  Pa  Ambrose." 

"  Yes  ;  your  uncle  always  exerts  himself  so  at  a 
dinner.  Remember,  Jack,  you  are  not  to  live  and 
die  a  bachelor ;  but  if  you  must,  take  your 
uncle  John  for  a  model.  He  has  never  grown  old." 
And  the  good  woman  seemed  to  grow  young  again 
herself  as  she  spoke  the  words. 

From  one  or  two  trifling  hints  that  had  been  given 
out,  Marvin  inferred  that  the  agreeable  duty  of  en- 
tertaining Miss  Bromfield  would  fall  to  him  in  the 
character  of  old  friend.  In  his  present  mood  of 
defiance  this  was  exactly  the  thing  he  desired.  He 
donned  the  world's  armor,  therefore,  when  the 
time  came,  in  his  most  scrupulous  manner,  as 
if  he  were  determined  that  the  sombre  garb  of 
society  should  sit  upon  a  man  for  once  with  a  festal 
look.  Having  allowed  a  full  hour  for  his  warlike 
5 


56  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

preparations,  he  was  early  in  the  field,  and  found 
Mrs.  Elliston  and  her  distinguished  half-brother 
alone  in  the  drawing-room. 

"  You  know  Mr.  Marvin,  I  believe,"  said  the 
hostess. 

"  Ah  !  "  was  the  stately  answer,  followed  up  by 
the  fingers — two  fingers — of  the  morning. 

But  Marvin  stood  up  like  a  man,  and  gave  him 
two  fingers  in  return ;  so  that  Mr.  Musgrave's 
astonished  muscles,  avoiding  an  awkward  predica- 
ment, involuntarily  closed  around  them  with  some- 
thing like  a  grip.  A  quiet  passage  at  arms  between 
these  two  that  no  one  else  ever  dreamed  of.  But 
the  victory  lay  all  with  the  prentice  hand ;  Mr. 
Musgrave  never  needed  another  introduction  to  it. 

Speedily  now  he  remembered  not  only  their 
meeting  in  the  morning,  but  also  that  Jack  had 
often  spoken  of  his  friend,  Mr.  Marvin.  The  new 
hotel  ?  Oh,  yes,  he  liked  it ;  very  fairly  planned  it 
was,  on  the  whole ;  though,  of  course,  Jack  had 
much  to  learn.  Some  of  our  best  people  had  taken 
rooms  there.  Captain  Bromfield  and  his  daughter 
were  to  try  it  in  a  week  or  two.  Hers  was  not  a 
face  that  interested  him,  though  she  was  called  a 
pretty  woman.  But  then,  her  face  was  not  her 
fortune.  Shrewd  fellow,  that  Ambrose, — one  of 
the  persistent  kind.  Did  Mr.  Marvin  know  him  ? 
Slightly,  eh  ?  Well,  his  grandfather  was — 

But,  here,  just  as  the  Ambrose  family  tree  was  in 
danger  of  being  torn  up  by  the  roots,  Miss  Gerard 
appeared  in  a  dress  so  simple  and  yet  so  becoming, 


HEARTS-EASE  AND  RUE. 


67 


that  Marvin,  who  could  not  for  his  life  have  told 
whether  the  material  were  crape  or  lawn,  fell  to 
studying  its  effect,  and  wondering  in  what  its  art 
consisted.  She  had  joined  them,  and  was  parrying 
lightly  with  a  feathered  phrase  some  complimentary 
rapier-thrust  of  his  companion.  Then  the  room 
began  to  fill  up,  Mr.  Musgrave  was  called  away, 
and  Marvin  found  himself  alone  with  her  in  the 
curtained  recess  of  a  window,  waiting  out  that 
awkward  ante-prandial  moment  when  the  prudent 
man  utters  not  his  good  things,  but  holds  them  in 
reserve.  Suddenly  came  a  stir  at  the  door,  and  his 
heart  gave  a  great  bound.  Helena  Bromfield ! 
There  she  was,  dressed  in  creamy  white,  smiling, 
radiant,  lovely, — lovelier  even  than  on  that  far-off 
day — a  week  ago  was  it,  or  a  year  ? — under  the 
oaks  at  Waverley !  And  Ambrose  was  a  shrewd 
fellow — one  of  the  persistent  kind. 

"  Mr.  Marvin,  I  believe  you  can't  repeat  a  single 
word  I  have  been  saying,"  says  Miss  Gerard. 

True,  he  cannot,  but  he  does  not  tell  her  so. 
His  laughing  denial  is  interrupted  by  a  whisper 
from  his  host :  "  Mr.  Marvin,  will  you  take  in  Miss 
Bromfield?"  He  shivers  a  little  as  he  crosses  the 
room ;  it  is  trying,  certainly,  to  stand  before  her 
with  one  absorbing  thought,  that  spoken  would 
make  him  a  thing  of  pity.  But  the  first  step — the 
step  that  costs — is  over.  Her  arm  rests  lightly  upon 
his,  and  his  secret  was  never  so  safe  as  now.  Had 
he  just  stifled  a  man  instead  of  a  sentiment  his 
look  could  hardly  be  more  unconsciously  serene. 


68  KOSES  OF  SHADOW. 

"  It  was  very  thoughtful  and  kind  of  you  to  send 
me  those  lovely  roses,"  said- Miss  Bromfield,  when 
he  had  found  her  chair  at  the  host's  left,  and  they 
were  fairly  seated. 

'*  Oh,"  replied  Marvin,  with  studied  carelessness, 
"  blame  the  florist,  not  me.  He  did  it."  A  certain 
rigidity  of  manner  clung  to  him  always,  and  she  did 
not  observe  that  it  was  more  marked  than  usual. 

"  I  thank  you  all  the  same,"  she  said,  simply. 
"Maitland  was  much  pleased  at  your  taking  the 
trouble." 

"  Maitland !  Trouble !  "  growled  Marvin  to 
himself,  as  he  glanced  across  the  table  where  Am- 
brose was  yielding  gracefully  to  the  fascination  of 
Miss  Gerard  and  smoothing  out  meanwhile  the 
petals  of  a  great  purple  pansy  that  he  wore  in  his 
button-hole.  "  I  wonder  who  gave  him  that," 
Marvin  thought.  Then  he  turned  to  Miss  Brom- 
field again. 

"  I  suppose  it  would  be  proper  to  say  that  I  am 
glad  of  your  engagement,"  he  began. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said,  "please  don't  do  that.  It 
would  be  rather  like  a  compliment,  and  you  can't 
pay  compliments  gracefully,  you  know." 

"  Entirely  true,"  he  answered,  laughing,  "  and 
your  apology  is  accepted.  Yes,"  he  added,  as  he 
saw  by  her  eyes  that  she  was  thinking  not  of  him, 
but  of  Ambrose,  "  he  stands  fire  well,  doesn't  he  ? 
You  should  have  seen  him  a  night  or  two  ago,  at 
the  club." 

"Oh,  but   I  heard   about  it,"  said  Helena,  "and 


HEART* S-EASE  AND  RUE.  69 

about  Signer  Bruni,  too, — that  was  just  like  him, 
poor  man." 

"  Poor — why  ?  " 

"  Because — "  and  she  hesitated. 

"  He  is  married,  I  know,  but — " 

"  But !  "  she  repeated.  "  Is  not  that  misery  enough 
from  your  point  of  view?" 

"  Much  more  than  enough,  but  then — " 

"  Then  that  is  why  Signor  Bruni  is  unhappy," 
she  said,  dismissing  the  subject  and  turning  away 
to  Mr.  Elliston. 

Directly  opposite  to  Helena  had  established  itself 
the  majestic  form  of  Mrs.  Ambrose  (Ma  Ambrose, 
Jack  Elliston  called  her),  resplendent  in  purple 
and  gold.  She  was  an  oppressive  and  Juno-like 
person,  who  dealt  in  magnificent  commonplaces. 
Marvin,  left  a  moment  to  his  own  devices,  gazed  at 
her  in  silent  admiration.  He  had  never  sat  at  meat 
with  a  duchess,  but  he  said  to  himself,  so  might  a 
duchess  look,  so  might  she  comport  herself.  He  did 
not  know  that  had  opportunity  been  given  her  she 
would  have  pinned  him  into  a  corner  and  demanded 
to  be  told  his  favorite  poem.  For  it  was  her  mis- 
fortune to  be  of  a  literary  turn  of  mind.  Upon  her 
library  table  at  that  very  moment  lay  a  little  vellum- 
covered  volume  of  verse,  privately  printed  upon 
india  paper,  with  very  wide  margins.  "  Windfalls  by 
A.  A."  She  was  A.  A. 

"  Don't  you  dote  upon  a  round  table  ?  "  cut  sud- 
denly in  upon  Marvin's  meditations.  He  had 
entirely  forgotten  for  the  moment  his  left  hand 


~0  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

neighbor,  Miss  Flossie  Feathering,  a  belle  of  three 
seasons  back.  Mr.  Musgrave  had  brought  her  in 
to  dinner,  and  she  had  been  entertaining  him  with 
her  small  talk,  not  too  good-natured — never  of  things 
but  of  people,  and  chiefly  of  her  dearest  friends.  In 
her  defence  it  should  be  said  that  the  old  pagan  had 
seemed  to  the  last  degree  diverted.  "  Don't  you 
dote  upon  a  round  table  ?  "  asked  Miss  Feathering. 
"  /  do — it  brings  us  all  out  so  !  Have  you  been 
here  long  ?  And  have  you  heard  anything  about 
the  Whateleys'  garden  party  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  hear  of  the  Whateleys'  garden 
party,"  said  Marvin,  "  for  I  dislike  them — garden 
parties,  I  mean." 

Miss  Feathering  looked  at  him  with  saucer  eyes. 
"  What  a  queer  man  !  "  she  said.  "  I  never  could 
understand  you  at  all." 

"  Is    it  necessary  that   you   should  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  I  always  want  to  get  at 
people ;  I  always  say  everything  that  comes  into 
my  head,  and  I  want  everybody  to  do  the  same 
for  me." 

"  You  had  better  give  me  up,"  said  Marvin. 

"  No,  for  I  think  you're  very  interesting.  You're 
one  of  my  enigmas — like  Signer  Bruni." 

"  Bruni  ! "  said  Marvin,  who  had  hardly  known 
the  Italian  before  that  night  at  the  club.  "  What  is 
it  about  Bruni  ?  Why  is  he  unhappy?  His  pictures 
sell ;  he  must  be  coining  money." 

"  Money !  That's  all  men  think  about.  His 
wife  makes  him  perfectly  wretched." 


HEARTHS-EASE  AND  RUE.  ji 

"  What's  the  matter  with  her  ?  "  asked  Marvin, 
puzzled. 

"  She  has  taken  to  lecturing,"  said  Miss  Feathering, 
solemnly. 

"  Oh,"  said  Marvin,  "  I  thought  all  wives  did 
that." 

"  You  know  I  meant  in  public,"  she  replied. 
"  How  would  you  like  to  have  your  wife  flying  about 
the  country  and  figuring  in  all  the  newspapers  ? 
Going  in  for  dress  reform,  too,  and  writing 
pamphlets !  Odious  creature  !  Is  that  your  idea 
of  love,  honor,  and  obedience  ?  " 

Marvin  could  not  answer  that  it  was  ;  but  as  his 
reflections  upon  this  important  subject  seemed  to 
have  been  somewhat  vague,  Miss  Feathering 
promptly  volunteered  the  result  of  her  own. 

"  A  man's  wife  should  sit  always  in  the  other 
arm-chair,"  said  she.  "  Now,  don't  you  agree  with 
me,  Mr.  Marvin  ?  I  am  sure  yours  will  never  be 
like  Mrs.  Thornton  Hooker,  who  always  leaves  a 
room,  they  say,  when  her  husband  enters  it.  Have 
you  heard  how  she  is  going  on  with  young  Wylie? 
I  hope  she's  not  a  dear  friend  of  yours, — " 

Her  voice  sank  into  a  low  murmur,  like  the  coo- 
ing of  a  dove.  She  was  not  to  be  shaken  off. 
Marvin  listened  without  committing  himself,  his 
eyes  fixed  the  while  upon  the  purple  flower  Ambrose 
wore.  Suddenly  Miss  Feathering  found  her  tale 
tiresome,  and  changed  the  subject. 

"A  delicate  touch,  isn't  it?"  she  asked,  catching 
the  direction  of  Marvin's  eyes. 


-2  y? OSES  OF  SHAD  O IV. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Haven't  you  noticed  ?  See !  "  And  with  a  look 
she  called  his  attention  to  the  flowers  in  Miss 
Bromfield's  dress, — pansies,  too,  of  the  same  deep 
purple.  Just  at  that  moment  Helena  looked  down, 
touched  one  of  the  curling  petals  and  glanced  across 
the  table  with  a  faint  smile.  "  Delicious  !  "  whispered 
Miss  Feathering.  "  Life  is  old,  but  Love  is  young 
— so  very  young!  How  impossible  all  that  seems, 
doesn't  it,  to  you  and  me?  " 

And  Marvin,  his  glass  at  his  lips,  only  smiled  in 
answer,  while  Ambrose  with  his  flower  signalled 
back  a  tender  message  and,  ostrich-like,  thought  he 
had  escaped  detection. 

Curious  scraps  of  conversation  were  borne  in  upon 
Marvin's  ear  as  another  vacant  moment  became  his. 

"  Character,"  explained  Miss  Gerard  to  Ambrose 
and  to  Mrs.  Elliston,  "is  the  result  of  experience. 
There  is  no  heredity — we  are  slaves  of  circumstance 
—all." 

"  Yes,"  was  Miss  Feathering's  soothing  word  to 
Mr.  Musgrave,  "woman's  sphere  is  to  obey;  she 
should  follow,  man  should  take  the  lead." 

"  Browning  heavy  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs,  Ambrose 
to  Jack  Elliston.  "  Pray,  have  you  read  all  his 
works?  " 

"  No,"  said  Jack,  meekly. 

"Ah!  "  returned  A.  A.,  the  appreciative  and  the 
gifted  ;  "  I  have." 

"  I  know  all  about  Bruni  now,"  said  Marvin  to 
Helena,  for  at  his  right  hand  there  was  a  lull. 


HEART' S-EASE  AND  RUE. 


73 


"Ah,"  she  answered,  lightly;  "then  you  are  just 
the  person  for  me.  Go  and  look  at  my  portrait 
that  he  is  painting.  I  can't  trust  papa  and  Maitland. 
I  want  criticism  from  a  remote  point — from  a  friend 
of  calm  and  judicial  mind.  Do  go,  and  tell  me 
precisely  what  you  think." 

"  Excuse  me,  I  would  rather  not,"  said  Marvin, 
bluntly. 

Helena  changed  color  a  little,  looked  at  him 
curiously  and  laughed.  She  was  amused  and  not 
offended. 

"  Just  like  you !  "  she  said.  "  I  might  have 
known  you  would  refuse.  But  why  ?  It  is  a  trifling 
service." 

"  Because  friendship  and  criticism  are  like  oil  and 
water;  they  will  not  mix — at  least  in  my  organism. 
If  I  should  fail  to  like  the  portrait,  as  is  more  than 
possible,  I  must  either  tell  you  a  pack  of  out- 
rageous lies  or  admit  the  truth  and  give  my  reasons; 
thereby,  of  course,  bringing  our  friendship  to  a 
remote  point  indeed." 

She  colored  again  and  looked  annoyed.  "  Why  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  Because  I  believe  that  few  men  and  no  women 
can  stand  a  strong  dose  of  the  truth,  however 
thickly  it  may  be  sugar-coated — truth  dealing  with 
their  own  qualities,  I  mean." 

"Even  admitting  this,"  said  Helena, "as  I  do  not, 
it  was  only  a  bit  of  painted  canvas  you  were  asked 
to  consider.  There  would  be  no  need  of  personal 
criticism." 


•JA  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

"  Ah,"  replied  Marvin,  "  the  portrait  is  you — you 
are  the  portrait!  No  such  work  of  art  is  ever 
destroyed  without  a  special  act  of  Providence. 
Good,  bad  or  indifferent,  it  will  hang  before  you  all 
your  days  and  the  evil  I  say  of  it  will  live  after  me. 
I  speak  from  bitter  experience.  Long  ago,  I  uttered 
a  harsh  word  of  a  certain  likeness  of  one  of  my 
relations — a  most  estimable  woman,  who  called  me 
in  as  one  of  the  family.  I  merely  said  that  the 
picture  should  be  cut  out  of  the  frame  and  burned. 
But  the  loathsome  thing  still  hangs  in  her  drawing- 
room  ;  whenever  we  meet  there,  her  eyes  turn  from 
me  to  the  portrait ;  her  lips  move ;  she  is  repeating 
my  honest  dictum  ;  and  her  invitations  have  grown 
infrequent  to  a  significant  degree." 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  be  so  sensitive — so  unfor- 
giving ?  "  asked  Helena,  laughing. 

"  You  are  a  woman,"  he  answered,  shrugging 
his  shoulders. 

"  And  you  are — a  bachelor.  You  shall  not  see 
my  portrait  now." 

"  Then  that  is  settled,"  said  Marvin  ;  "  we  can't 
quarrel  about  it.  You  must  forgive  me — you  who 
are  charitable.  We  will  talk  of  something  else,  of 
your  patient — the  one  we  went  to  see,  and  whom  I 
did  not  see." 

"  In  Waverley  ?  "  she  asked  ;  and  the  color  began 
to  steal  up  into  her  face  a  little.  But  Marvin  did 
not  notice  it 

"  In  Waverley,"  he  said,  without  flinching.  "  Has 
she  recovered  ?  " 


HEARTHS-EASE  AND  RUE.  75 

"  Oh  yes,"  replied  Miss  Bromfield,  speaking 
rather  more  quickly  than  usual ;  "  she  went  back  to 
town  a  day  or  two  afterward  and  is  hard  at  work 
again.  A  letter  from  her  came  to-night  just  as  we 
were  starting.  See !  They  say  all  women  are 
curious,  but  I've  not  opened  it." 

Marvin  took  the  envelope  and  saw  that  it  was 
addressed  to  Miss  Bromfield  in  a  delicate  feminine 
hand. 

"  Ah  !  a  young  woman." 

"  Yes,"  said  Helena ;  "  I  thought  I  told  you — 
only  nineteen." 

Marvin  handed  back  the  letter  with  an  air  of 
indifference.  What  possible  interest  could  he  have 
in  the  writer?  She  was  evidently  not  a  subject  for 
charity ;  and  even  were  it  otherwise,  charity  he  left 
to  older  and  richer  men  and  to  women.  Miss 
Bromfield  held  the  morsel  of  paper  in  her  hand  a 
moment,  looked  down  at  it  and  sighed. 

"  You  are  certainly  the  least  curious  of  women," 
Marvin  said.  "The  letter  contains  an  enclosure,  and 
you  have  kept  it  a  whole  hour  without  breaking  the 
seal." 

"  I  will  be  honest,"  she  returned,  "  and  confess 
that  I  know  what  the  enclosure  is.  No  one  is  look- 
ing ;  let  me  show  it  to  you."  And  tearing  open  the 
letter  she  took  from  it  a  small  photograph  and  laid 
it  down  upon  the  table  between  them. 

The  likeness  was  in  miniature,  half  the  size,  per- 
haps, of  the  palm  of  Marvin's  hand.  It  showed 
him  the  face  of  a  young  girl,  fair-haired,  and  dark- 


76 


XOSES  OF  SHADOW. 


eyed,  apparently,  wonderfully  pretty  at  all  events. 
Marvin,  looking  carelessly  down  at  it,  was  suddenly 
interested  by  a  certain  sadness  in  the  expression  and 
also  by  a  singular  consciousness  that  he  must  have 
seen  the  face,  or  one  very  like  it — in  a  former  state, 
probably,  or  in  some  waking  dream. 

"  Who  is  this  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Why,  the  patient !  "  said  Miss  Bromfield.  "  I 
knew  she  would  interest  you." 

"  I  have  seen  her  somewhere,"  said  Marvin. 

"  Oh,  that's  impossible  !  She  has  been  here  but 
a  short  time,  and  has  been  ill,  too,  as  you  know." 

"  I  have  seen  her,"  Marvin  repeated. 

"  Of  course  you  have;  I  may  as  well  give  in  at 
once,  for  there's  no  convincing  a  man.  You  have 
seen  her."  And  Helena  caught  up  the  photograph 
quickly,  for  she  had  not  desired  to  draw  the  atten- 
tion of  the  table  to  it,  and  she  observed  that  Miss 
Gerard's  keen  eyes  were  bent  their  way. 

"Where?"  thought  Marvin.  "Where?"  And 
then  he  asked,  as  if  groping  for  a  clue,  "  What  is 
her  name  ?  " 

"  Men  are  never  curious,"  said  Helena.  "  But  I 
don't  mind  telling  you,  if  its  only  to  put  you  down, 
for  the  name  is  one  you  have  never  heard.  Ruel — 
Amy  Ruel !  She  came  here  with  her  father  from 
Canada,  in  search  of  good  luck,  poor  child — for 
that  is  what  they  need.  The  father  is  a  man  of 
talent  and  ^  hero — a  sculptor,  struggling  for  recog- 
nition. Could  anything  be  more  hopeless?  He 
will  do  nothing  but  good,  honest  work  and  that,  it 


HEARTHS-EASE  AND  RUE. 


77 


appears,  is  not  easily  sold.  Bruni  says  his  things 
are  really  fine,  and  that  some  day  he  will  be  famous. 
Meanwhile,  his  daughter  has  to  support  herself  by 
— Ah  !  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

The  matter  was,  that  in  some  unaccountable 
manner  a  champagne  glass  had  suddenly  broken  in 
Miss  Gerard's  hand,  scattering  itself  in  little,  glit- 
tering flakes  about  the  table.  Around  her  plate 
flowed  a  small  deluge.  There  was  an  awkward 
moment  in  which  nobody  moved,  and  then  one  of 
the  servants  came  forward  to  collect  the  fragments. 
Miss  Gerard  drew  back  a  little,  and  discovered  upon 
her  hand  an  ugly  cut,  from  which  drops  of  blood 
were  just  beginning  to  ooze. 

"  Oh,  Isa!  "  cried  Mrs.  Elliston,  who  saw  it  at  the 
same  moment. 

But  Miss  Gerard  was  already  on  her  feet,  with 
her  handkerchief  bound  about  the  wound.  "  It  is 
nothing,"  she  said ;  "  pray  excuse  me  for  a  little 
moment."  She  left  the  room,  and  Mrs.  Elliston 
followed  her  immediately. 

"Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Ambrose,  with  a  long  breath,  as 
she  fanned  herself  into  composure.  "  It  gave  me 
such  a  shock.  Poor  child!  How  pale  she  looked  ! 
And  so  do  we  all.  As  for  Mr.  Musgrave,  he  is 
positively  livid." 

A  faint  flush  stole  up  into  the  great  man's  cheek 
as  attention  was  thus  drawn  its  way.  "  It  was  suf- 
ficiently startling,"  he  replied.  "  I  can't  exactly  see 
how  it  happened." 

"  The  glass  is  very  thin,"  said  Jack ;  "  one  has 


«g  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

only  to  press  a  little — so,"  and  he  would  have 
broken  another  glass  by  way  of  demonstration,  if 
Mrs.  Ambrose  had  not  caught  his  hand. 

"  Ah,  yes, "  replied  his  uncle,  absently ;  "  that  ex- 
plains it;"  and  dismissing  the  subject,  he  leaned  over 
the  table,  and  said:  "About  saddle-horses,  Mr. 
Ambrose.  Miss  Feathering  thinks, — "  and  so,  little 
by  little,  the  suspended  animation  of  the  company 
was  restored. 

In  a  very  few  minutes  Mrs.  Elliston  came  back, 
bringing  Miss  Gerard  with  her.  To  seem  absorbed 
in  each  other  was  clearly  the  duty  of  all  the 
guests  save  two,  and  by  what  might  be  called  a 
sleight  of  mind  process,  this  duty  was  gracefully 
performed.  After  some  time,  Marvin  ventured  to 
look  across  the  table,  and  he  observed  two  things : 
that  Miss  Gerard  was  still  very  pale,  and  that  she 
wore  upon  the  wounded  hand  a  gray  glove  that 
was  a  trifle  too  large  for  her  and  that  hung  about 
her  wrist  in  picturesque  folds. 

"  How  becoming  that  glove  is !"  whispered  Miss 
Feathering.  "  I  could  believe  she  did  all  that  on 
purpose  if — " 

"  If?  "  repeated  Marvin,  as  she  hesitated. 

"  If  I  had  not  been  watching  her, — take  care  !  " 
she  exclaimed,  as  Miss  Gerard  looked  over  at  them. 
"  More  anon." 

They  had  come  to  the  coffee;  a  moment  later, 
Mrs.  Elliston  gave  her  signal,  and  the  ladies  rose. 
Miss  Feathering,  a  little  later  than  the  rest,  let  fall 
her  fan  at  Marvin's  feet.  As  he  handed  it  back : 


HEART' S-EASE  AND  RUE. 


79 


"  More  anon,"  she  said  again,  with  a  meaning  look 
at  Miss  Gerard's  vacant  chair.  Then  she  touched 
her  lips  with  the  tip  of  her  fan  and  rustled  away. 

"  That  means  envy,  I  suppose,"  said  Marvin  to 
himself.  "  The  glove  was  too  becoming.  All 
women  are  alike, — all  contemptible." 

Ill-natured  thought,  unworthy  of  Marvin's  stoical 
philosophy.  But  he  was  already  in  danger  of  for- 
saking his  sect  and  turning  bitter  as  Diogenes. 

"  Strong  or  mild  ?  "  asked  Jack,  as  he  passed  the 
cigars ;  and  Marvin  took  a  strong  one,  and  puffed 
away  at  it  grimly,  while  the  others  stretched  them- 
selves out  in  their  chairs,  and  suffered  their  talk  to 
relax  a  little  like  their  muscles.  Ambrose,  after 
more  than  a  thimbleful  of  cognac,  filled  and  re- 
filled his  wine-glass  (fine  old  twice-round-the-world 
Madeira  it  was),  and  then  the  talk  seemed  to  turn 
all  his  way.  Marvin  sat  watching  him  through  his 
cloud  of  smoke  with  a  disgust  that  deepened  as 
the  room  grew  murky.  He  was  by  no  means 
squeamish;  but  even  broad  humor,  it  seemed 
to  him,  should  have  its  measure  of  restraint, 
and  this  element  Ambrose  chose  to  ignore. 
What  the  fellow  said  was  not  even  witty,  and 
his  way  of  saying  it  was  positively  brutal.  A 
gentleman  remains  a  gentleman  none  the  less 
for  a  glass  more  than  is  good  for  him;  but  nothing 
is  more  treacherous  than  veneer;  put  an  un- 
wonted strain  upon  it,  and  presto !  it  is  gone  in 
an  instant,  exposing  the  sham.  Maitland  Ambrose 
seemed  to  have  departed  with  the  ladies,  leaving  an 


g0  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

ugly  changeling,  with  the  manners  of  a  stable  boy, 
in  his  place.  "  And  he  is  just  engaged,"  Marvin 
thought.  "  He's  not  half  good  enough  for  her. 
She  must  have  been  bewitched  to  fall  in  love  with 
him.  Titania  with  the  ass's  head  !  "  Meanwhile, 
Jack  and  his  uncle  either  found,  or  pretended  to 
find,  Ambrose  diverting.  Mr.  Musgrave,  indeed, 
was  expanding  like  a  tropical  plant  in  a  forcing- 
house;  yet  another  five  minutes  and  he  would 
blossom  to  the  full  with  geniality.  Mr.  Elliston,  at 
first,  tried  to  talk  Ambrose  down;  but  failing 
signally  in  this  attempt,  he  retired  with  Marvin  into 
the  background,  so  to  speak,  and  at  the  first  favor- 
able moment  made  a  move  toward  the  drawing- 
room.  Thither  accordingly  they  went,  to  find  Miss 
Gerard  posed  gracefully  at  the  piano,  with  her 
hands  wandering  in  faint,  improvised  harmony  over 
the  keys.  She  looked  up  as  the  door  opened,  and 
smiled. 

"  Miss  Gerard  wants  to  prove  that  she  is  not  dis- 
abled," said  Mrs.  Elliston.  "  Now  we  will  have  the 
song,  my  dear." 

"  Oh,  not  now,"  she  answered. 

"  Yes,  now,  "  cried  all  the  men  at  once. 

She  yielded  instantly,  with  a  bewitching  little 
shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"Shall  I  play  the  accompaniment?"  asked  Miss 
Feathering. 

"  On  no  account,"  she  returned,  for  the  moment 
forgetting  to  be  civil.  "  Will  some  one  give  me  a 
little  more  light,  please  ?  Thank  you,"  she  added, 


HEART 'S-EASE  AND  RUE.  gl 

as  Mr.  Musgrave  caught  up  a  great,  twisted,  silver 
candlestick,  and  carrying  it  across  the  room,  set  it 
down  before  her.  He  stayed  at  her  side,  too,  turn- 
ing over  the  music  and  waiting  upon  her  with  a 
stately,  old-time  elegance. 

It  was  a  florid  Italian  air,  with  a  plaintive  refrain, — 

"  And  will  ye  come  no  more,  no  more  ? 

O  days  of  yore 
Will  ye  no  more  return  ?  " 

Her  voice  was  a  mezzo-soprano,  of  not  too  tender 
a  quality ;  but  she  gave  the  song  vigorously,  with 
all  the  skill,  perhaps,  that  it  deserved.  Miss  Brom- 
field  was  then  called  upon ;  she  had  no  notes,  but 
would  do  her  best  without  them  ;  and  very  simply 
and  very  sweetly  she  did  it.  Hers  was  a  quaint 
love-song  of  old  France,  one  that  the  great  hero- 
king,  Henri  of  Navarre,  is  said  to  have  composed 
for  some  purpose  of  his  own, — 

"  Charmante  Gabrielle, 

Perce  de  mille  dards, 
Quand  la  gloire  m'appelle 

A  la  suite  de  Mars, — 
Cruelle  departie  ! 

Malheureux  jour  ! 
Que  ne  suis-je  sans  vie, 

Ou  sans  amour  ?  " 

Her  voice   lacked  the   power  of  the  other,  but 

there  was  something  in  its  tone  that  went  straight 

to  the  heart.     The  words  died  away ;  no  one  spoke, 

no  one  moved,  for  the  music  went  on  softly,  falling 

6 


g2  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

and  rising  again  like  the  murmur  of  a  night  breeze; 
and  the  song,  when  she  resumed  it,  seemed  to  come 
out  of  the  distance  like  an  echo, — 

"  Partagez  ma  couronne, 

Le  prix  de  ma  valeur, 
Je  la  tiens  de  Bellone, 

Tenez  la  de  mon  coeur ! 
Cruelle  departie  ! 

Malheureux  jour ! 
C'est  trap  peu  d'une  vie, 

Pour  tant  d' amour !  " 

"  Exquisite  !  "  said  Mrs.  Ambrose,  just  touching 
with  her  handkerchief  the  corner  of  one  eye.  But 
for  the  half-light  of  the  room  a  tear  would  surely 
have  glistened  there.  Then  came  another  moment 
of  silence  that  to  Marvin  seemed  a  small  eternity. 
He  was  thoroughly  uncomfortable  now.  'Why  could 
not  she  have  chosen  another  song  ?  The  first  note 
of  this  had  conjured  up  for  him  a  certain  dark 
expanse  of  rippling  water,  with  a  shrouded  moon 
peering  out  over  a  clump  of  chestnut  trees,  and  the 
call  of  a  nightingale  growing  fainter  in  the  distance 
— the  lake  of  Geneva,  where  he  met  her  for  the  first 
time  three  years  ago  ;  and  there,  seated  in  the  stern 
of  the  boat,  while  his  dripping  oars  rose  and  fell, 
she  sung  this  song  under  the  night  and  the  stars. 
Had  Ambrose  ever  heard  it  before,  he  wondered. 
He  looked  at  Ambrose,  who  sat,  as  it  happened, 
close  beside  him.  The  man  was  half  asleep — 
actually  nodding  !  Soft  music  had  lent  its  influence 
to  that  of  the  choice  old  Madeira  and  the  fine 


HEARTHS-EASE  AND  RUE.  83 

Havanas ;  and  to  these  three  the  fortunate  suitor 
had  succumbed,  sinking  back  into  a  favoring  shadow. 
Marvin  trod  upon  his  toe  considerately  if  somewhat 
savagely,  rousing  him  in  time  to  echo  the  expressions 
of  delight  over  Helena's  singing;  and  just  then 
Miss  Bromfield  joined  the  little  group. 

Ah !  It  was  all  clear  enough  now.  Here  was 
Maitlancl  Ambrose  back  again,  no  more  the  man  of 
that  after-dinner  scene  than  our  Hamlet  of  last  night 
is  Hamlet  to-day  in  the  morning.  No  wonder  she 
had  fallen  in  love  with  this  handsome,  agreeable 
fellow,  whose  five  wits  were  all  on  the  alert  to  please 
her.  But  she  sjent  him  away  with  a  whispered  word 
and  stopped  Marvin,  who  had  tried  to  go,  before  he 
was  fairly  out  of  reach. 

"  Geneva!"  said  Marvin,  in  lieu  of  applause. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  I  thought  you  would 
remember.  What  an  enchanting  life  we  led  there  ! 
And  how  obstinate  papa  was !  He  would  insist 
upon  setting  off  fire-crackers  on  the  fourth  of  July. 
I  could  do  nothing  with  him  that  summer." 

"  But  you  always  had  your  own  way,"  said  Mar- 
vin, "  in  the  end." 

"  In  the  end  ?    Oh,  yes ;  I  always  do." 

"  What  woman  wills,  Heaven  wills,"  Marvin  quoted. 

"  And  man  should  will,"  she  returned  ;  then,  as 
the  others  were  chattering  busily,  she  drew  a  little 
nearer  and  said,  in  a  lower  tone,  "  I  have  discovered 
how  you  came  to  see  my  protegee'' 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  When  I  showed  you  the  photograph  at  dinner 


84 


HOSES  OF  SHADOW. 


you  declared  that  you  had  seen  her.  '  I  thought  it 
most  unlikely,  and  I  think  so  still.  But  now  I  have 
the  missing  clue.  What  you  saw  was  a  resemblance 
— one  of  those  chance  things  that  come  and  go  in  a 
face  unexpectedly.  While  you  were  smoking  I 
found  it  too." 

"  In  whose  face  ?"  Marvin  inquired. 

"Over  there — across  the  room.     Do  you  see?" 

"  Miss  Gerard  ?    It  can't  be  !  " 

"  It  can't  be — but  it  is.     Look." 

Miss  Gerard  was  standing  with  Miss  Feathering 
at  the  piano,  turning  over  a  heap  of  music.  She 
looked  up  suddenly  as  Helena  spoke,  and  the  light 
from  the  great  candlestick  fell  full  upon  her  face. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Marvin,  "  there  is  a  like- 
ness. I  saw  it  then.  Strange  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Helena,  "  it  is  very  strange.  A 
mystery,  and  I  mean  to  unravel  it." 

"  How  ?" 

"  Simply  by  showing  Miss  Gerard  the  photograph, 
and  asking  her  if  the  likeness  is  mere  chance  or 
something  more." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Marvin,  with  a  somewhat  doubtful 
intonation.  He  was  really  wondering  how  straight- 
forward an  answer  Miss  Gerard  would  give  to  the 
question ;  for  he  had  s'omehow  acquired  a  vague 
suspicion  of  her,  dating  perhaps  from  their  passage 
at  arms  over  the  letter  in  the  garden. 

"  But  I  can't  do  that  now,"  Helena  went  on, "  and 
who  knows  when  we  shall  meet  again  ?  You  are 
to  be  here  to-morrow  ?  "  she  asked,  abruptly. 


HEARTHS-EASE  AND  RUE.  8$ 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  for  a  day  or  two  longer." 

"  Then  you  shall  ask  her  for  me !  You  will,  I 
am  sure.  The  question  can  do  no  harm  and  may 
do  much  good.  My  poor  friends  are  strangely 
silent  about  their  affairs,  but  I  am  inquisitive 
because  I  long  to  help  them.  Don't  refuse  me  this 
favor  as  you  did  the  other  one." 

So  the  little  portrait  found  its  way  into  Marvin's 
pocket  and  he,  to  his  own  surprise,  found  himself 
promising  to  make  the  inquiry  and  report  upon  it. 
A  moment  after  he  wished  he  had  not  yielded. 
Why  could  not  the  women,  this  one  of  all  others,  let 
him  alone  ?  If  he  had  complied  with  the  first  request 
this  latter  could  not  have  been  exacted  of  him.  But 
at  all  events  he  possessed  the  likeness  of  the  un- 
known beauty;  there  was  some  compensation  in  that. 

Then  followed  more  chatter  and  more  music. 
Miss  Feathering  played  to  the  rapturous  delight  of 
her  hostess  an  intricate  piece  of  melody,  that  did 
infinite  credit  to  her  own  powers  of  endurance. 
Miss  Gerard  begged  off  when  her  turn  came  and 
was  graciously  excused.  Then,  with  Helena  once 
more  at  the  piano,  nothing  would  satisfy  Mrs.  Am- 
brose but  a  second  hearing  of  King  Henry's  little 
love  song;  and  again  the  listeners  were  hushed  into 
a  silence  that  seemed  breathless  as  the  sweet,  time- 
honored  music  cast  its  momentary  spell  upon  them. 

"  Que  ne  suis-je  sans  vie 
Ou  sans  amour?" 

Had  the  melancholy  words  fallen  directly  from 


g5  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

the  king's  lips  they  could  hardly  have  been  heeded 
better.  And  Marvin  fairly  ground  his  teeth  in 
gloom.  How  much  longer  was  this  sort  of  thing 
to  last  ?  Were  these  people  never  going  ?  What 
an  ass  he  had  been!  What  an  ass  he  was!  If 
he  could  only  kick  Ambrose  straight  across  the 
drawing-room  and  then  turn  round  and  kick  him- 
sjlf!  Pshaw!  It  was  ail- 
But  now,  breaking  in  upon  these  jovial  reflections 
caiie  a  stir  in  the  room  and  a  rustling  of  garments. 
The  leave-takings  at  last !  Marvin  rose  to  bid 
good-night  in  his  turn  to  the  departing  guests ;  but 
intimate  friends  among  the  gentle  sex  have  many 
last  words  that  must  be  spoken  even  when  they  do 
but  part  at  night  to  meet  again  in  the  morning,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  his  turn  were  to  be  long  in  coming. 
So,  the  room  being  warm  and  he  somewhat  rest- 
less, Marvin  moved  over  toward  a  large  French 
window  that  stood  opportunely  open,  as  it  were 
pointing  the  way  to  the  veranda.  To  reach  it  he 
was  obliged  to  pass  behind  the  piano,  and  there 
in  his  flight  his  foot  fell  upon  some  soft,  yielding 
object,  evidently  out  of  place  where  it  lay.  He 
stooped,  fumbled  a  moment  in  the  dark  and  picked 
up  three  purple  pansies  tied  together  with  a  bit  of 
ribbon.  The  little  love-knot  Helena  had  worn — 
he  knew  it  instantly.  Charming  token  !  She  had 
caressed  it  at  the  dinner  table  !  He  looked  at  it 
now  contemptuously,  turning  it  over  and  over  in 
the  candle-light;  then  he  had  a  quiet  laugh  all  to 
himself  at  his  own  ill-temper.  How  amusing  it  all 


HEARTS-EASE  AND  RUE.  g/ 

was  !  Devilish  amusing — yes  !  And  moved  by  a 
strange  impulse  he  put  out  his  hand  and  held  the 
flowers  a  moment  in  the  flame  of  the  candle.  The 
poor  little  posy  sputtered  and  shrivelled  into 
nothing  instantly.  The  guests  were  still  parting 
and  re-parting:  he  had  his  back  to  them,  they 
could  not  see.  He  laughed  again  at  his  own 
expense;  and  here  his  laugh  was  echoed  in  a  low 
voice  close  at  his  elbow.  He  looked  up;  just  out- 
side in  the  shadow  stood  Miss  Gerard;  it  was  she 
who  had  opened  the  window  before  him  to  slip  out 
as  he  would  have  done;  and  his  small  scene  in 
dumb  show  had  been  going  on  under  her  very 
eyes !  He  stood  there  helpless,  confused  and 
angry  while  she  came  back  into  the  room  aglow 
with  mischief. 

"What  are  you  doing  with  the  pansies  ? "  she 
asked;  "don't  you  know  they  are  Miss  Bromfield's? 
I  shall  tell  her  you  have  been  making  a  burnt 
offering  of  them — or  an  auto-da-fe  !  Which  ?  "  She 
was  darting  by  him,  but  Marvin  made  a  stride  for- 
ward and  stopped  her. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake — "  he  said,  in  a  whisper. 

She  stood  still  and  played  with  her  closed  fan. 
"  Oh,"  she  murmured.  Then  she  looked  at  him 
gayly.  "  I  was  only  joking." 

"Of  course,  and  I  was  joking,  too!"  said  Marvin. 

"  From  the  moment  that  it  annoys  you — "  she 
went  on,  dropping  prettily  into  the  French  idiom. 

"  It  does  not  annoy  me,"  said  he ;  "  let  us  go  on 
with  the  joke;  tell  her  by  all  means." 


gg  R  OSES  OF  SHADO  W. 

"  No,  it  has  gone  far  enough.  Good-night,"  she 
said  to  Helena  who  came  toward  them.  They 
chatted  a  moment;  the  pansies  had  not  been 
missed  and  nobody  alluded  to  them.  Mrs.  Am- 
brose sounded  a  warning  note  in  the  hall. 

"  Good-night,  Mr.  Marvin,"  said  Helena,  "remem- 
ber your  promise." 

"  What  promise  ? "  wondered  Miss  Gerard  to 
herself  behind  her  sweetest  of  smiles  ;  and  then  she 
stole  silently  away  through  the  deserted  dining- 
room  and  so  out  of  the  scene.  When  Marvin 
looked  for  her  she  was  gone.  Miss  Feathering 
had  gone,  too,  without  sharing  her  morsel  of  gossip 
saved  up  from  the  dinner-table.  Much  Marvin 
cared,  though,  for  that. 

He  lost  no  time  in  making  his  escape  into  the 
friendly  gloom  of  the  ground-floor  chamber,  where 
his  one  candle  did  little  more  than  render  darkness 
visible.  He  put  the  light  down,  and  going  to  the 
open  window  threw  his  left  arm  up  against  the 
casing  and  leaned  his  head  upon  it,  looking  out  at 
the  night.  It  was  black  and  still — not  so  very 
still,  though — at  a  window  overhead  some  one  was 
softly  singing.  Miss  Gerard,  of  course !  She  was 
trying  already  that  refrain  of  le  grand  guerrier : 

"Que  ne  suis-je  sans  vie 
Ou  sans  amour  ?  " 

Sans  vie  ou  sans  amour!  Marvin  caught  the 
words  as  they  fell,  and  hummed  them  in  his  turn, 
marking  the  time  upon  his  forehead  with  the 
knuckles  of  his  clenched  fingers ;  he  changed  his 


HEARTHS-EASE  AND  RUE. 


89 


position,  looked  down  at  his  open  palm  and  found 
it  full  of  ashes — the  last  shreds  of  the  royal  purple ! 
"  Idiot ! "  he  muttered,  closing  the  window  with  a 
slam.  " '  Go,  get  some  water  and  wash  this  filthy 
witness  from  your  hand.'  " 


V. 

HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER. 

rPHE  best  laid  schemes  o'  mice  an'  men,"  sings 
1  the  Scottish  bard,  "gang  aft  a-gley";  and 
even  fair  women,  whose  will  is  heaven's  will,  and 
should  be  man's  also,  get  their  own  way  less  fre- 
quently than  one  likes  to  think.  "  Remember  your 
promise,"  Helena  had  said  to  Marvin,  referring,  of 
course,  to  her  whim  about  the  photograph ;  but  this, 
and  the  tete-a-tete  with  Miss  Gerard  that  it  in- 
volved, were  to  be  set  aside  indefinitely,  for  that 
young  person  appeared  no  more  below  stairs  during 
Marvin's  visit.  Word  of  her  illness  darkened  the 
breakfast  hour  the  morning  after  the  dinner-party; 
and  the  depressing  effect  of  her  absence  clearly 
demonstrated  her  importance  in  the  household. 
Even  Jack  was  gloomy ;  the  entire  family  seemed 
to  be  under  a  spell,  that  was  not  altogether  dissi- 
pated at  the  word  of  the  village  doctor,  who  had 
been  promptly  summoned,  and  who  had  declared 
that  Miss  Gerard  would  be  herself  again  in  a  day 
or  two.  Marvin's  spirits  fell  with  the  others ;  why, 
it  would  have  puzzled  him  to  explain.  In  Miss 
Gerard's  presence  he  was  alternately  attracted  and 
repelled  by  her;  when  she  was  out  of  sight  he 
90 


HER  FA  THER '  S  DA  UGHTER.  9 1 

missed  her.  Pondering  this,  he  concluded  that  she 
was  interesting  merely  as  a  study — a  woman  to  be 
afraid  of,  no  doubt ;  but,  then,  all  women  were  so. 

Two  days  later  he  returned  to  town  alone.  Jack, 
being  detained  by  unforeseen  professional  difficulties, 
in  vain  tried  to  detain  him  too;  but  he  was  not  the 
man  to  change  his  plans. 

His  rooms  were  stifling;  every  aperture,  in  his 
absence,  had  been  carefully  closed  to  keep  out  the 
dust,  which  none  the  less  clothed  all  things  as  with 
a  garment.  He  stamped  about,  flinging  open  doors 
and  windows;  and  when  it  became  possible  to 
breathe,  he  threw  himself  down  upon  the  sofa,  and 
drew  toward  him  a  black-and-tan  table  in  Chinese 
lacquer,  upon  which  the  news  of  the  last  few  days 
had  accumulated.  The  morning  paper,  it  appeared, 
had  been  faithfully  delivered;  this  was  a  circular, 
and  that  another;  here  was  a  tailor's  memoran- 
dum of  "  account  rendered."  He  tossed  them 
all  away.  Then  he  found  a  few  words  that  sur- 
prised him. 

"  MY  DEAR  MR.  MARVIN  :  I  want  to  see  you  for  a  moment  or 
two  about  a  matter  that  concerns  me  deeply  ?  Will  you  look  in 
some  morning — for  breakfast  at  two  bells,  sharp?  My  daughter 
is  away  and  we  shall  be  alone. 

"  Yours  faithfully, 

"ANDREW  BROMFIELD." 

What  under  the  sun,  now,  could  this  mean? 
Why  should  Helena's  father  call  upon  him  for 
advice  at  this  time — or  at  any  other,  for  that  matter? 
He  read  the  note  again.  Undue  solemnity  in  the 


02  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

old  bird's  tone,  he  thought  "  A  matter  that  con- 
cerns me  deeply,"  he  read  once  more,  and  smiled. 
Who  did  not  smile  at  the  thought  of  dear  old 
Captain  Bromfield  ?  Punchinello,  they  used  to  call 
him  in  the  navy.  There  was  no  offence  in  the 
nickname,  it  was  rather  a  term  of  endearment, — a 
tribute  to  his  rosy  visage  and  his  easily  awakened 
mirth,  that  drew  his  nose  so  very  near  his  chin. 
His  figure,  too  !  With  a  hump  it  would  have  been 
Punch's  own.  How  he  shook  when  he  laughed, — 
and  he  was  always  laughing.  Born  in  the  shadow 
of  New  England  pine  trees,  he  had  stolen  out  into 
the  sunshine  at  a  tender  age,  to  go  flashing  through 
existence  like  a  valet  in  Moliere.  With  a  heart  as 
light  as  a  cork  that  dances  upon  the  waves,  he  fol- 
lowed the  sea,  and  followed  it  literally  round  about 
the  world;  in  time  it  seamed  his  cheeks  and 
whitened  his  hair,  but  that  was  all ;  it  left  him 
young  as  ever.  Later  came  two  severe  trials — the 
loss  of  his  wife  and  the  consequent  loss  of  his  pro- 
fession. He  felt  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  devote 
himself  to  his  child.  He  had  risen  to  the  rank  of 
captain;  he  was  ambitious  ;  a  few  years  more  would 
make  him  commodore, — who  knows,  admiral,  per- 
haps— but  what  of  that  ?  His  duty  was  plain,  and 
he  could  not  shirk  it.  He  resigned.  It  hurt  him, 
but  he  never  winced.  There  are  some  men  whose 
experience  does  not  make  them  sad,  and  Captain 
Bromfield  was  the  best  in  this  kind.  He  had  saved 
something,  had  inherited  something.  Helena  would 
have  her  mother's  ample  fortune — his,  too,  some 


HER  FA  THER '  S  DA  UGHTER. 


93 


day.  They  were  comfortable.  He  laughed,  spun 
his  yarns,  grew  red  in  the  face  and  round  as  an 
apple,  and  was  happy. 

When  Helena  had  grown  to  be  seventeen  it 
occurred  to  him  that  he  ought  to  show  her  the 
world.  He  laughed  at  the  thought  He  was  only 
too  ready  himself  to  see  it  over  again.  They  made 
the  grand  tour,  and  in  the  course  of  it  encountered 
Marvin  at  a  table  d'hote  in  one  of  the  great  Geneva 
hotels,  overlooking  the  Quai  des  Paquis.  For 
two  days  Marvin  and  the  captain  sat  side  by  side 
at  table,  smoked  their  cigars  together  on  the 
terrace,  together  saw  the  Mont  Blanc  extinguished 
without  exchanging  a  word.  To  be  sure,  they  were 
fellow  citizens  and  had  never  been  introduced; 
Marvin  was  not  one  to  make  advances,  and  the 
captain,  jealous  of  his  daughter's  affection,  saw  in 
every  new  man  under  forty  the  son-in-law  he 
dreaded.  But  chance  conducted  thither  a  third 
American  who  knew  them  both,  and  who  called 
Marvin  lightly  in  the  captain's  hearing  "the  man 
who  would  never  marry."  At  the  very  next  meal 
the  old  sea  watch-dog  begged  Marvin  for  the  salt 
and  the  ice  was  broken.  They  became  friends,  of 
course.  Marvin's  dry,  unemotional  habit  of 
thought,  his  laziness,  his  apparent  freedom  from 
conceit,  pleased  the  captain  immensely;  his  man- 
ners, too,  were  agreeable ;  the  skeleton  of  selfish- 
ness was  there,  no  doubt,  but  it  was  well  padded 
with  easy  good-nature;  his  sturdy  figure  formed  a 
pleasant  object  for  the  mariner's  sensitive  eye  to 


94  XOSES  OF  SHADOW. 

rest  upon ;  above  all,  he  was  safe  !  So  they  had 
their  morning  leap  together  into  the  clear,  blue 
Rhone,  as  it  swept  through  the  huge  swimming- 
bath  moored  in  the  rapids,  and  they  strolled  in 
company  along  the  quais  to  study  the  lockets  in 
the  jewelers'  windows,  or  to  lean  upon  the  parapet 
over  the  swirling  water,  while  the  eagles  of  Geneva 
glared  at  them  from  their  iron  cage,  and  the  washer- 
women stopped  pounding  their  snowy  linen  to  stare 
in  wonder  at  this  lounging  elegance  overhead.  In 
the  afternoon,  there  was  the  ride  to  Coppet  or  to 
Ferney  under  the  wall  of  the  Jura;  and,  for  the 
evening,  music  in  the  open  air,  on  Rousseau's  little 
island,  round  which  the  river  in  the  moonlight 
swept  like  a  sheet  of  quicksilver,  without  a  ripple. 
And  always  at  morning,  noon  and  night,  they  had 
before  them  the  glistening  lake,  ever  the  same,  and 
ever  changing,  now  dotted  with  the  lateen  sails  in 
vogue  upon  the  sea  of  Galilee  in  the  first  of  these 
short  years  we  reckon,  and  now  stirred  frantically 
by  the  waspish  little  Villeneuve  steamer  with  its 
rich  lading  of  American  dusters  and  English  bath- 
ing-tubs. The  gate  of  Gaul.  Through  it  the 
hurrying  present  seems  always  to  elbow  its  way  on 
to  oblivion ;  only  the  remote  past  has  waited  long 
enough  to  be  remembered. 

Helena,  of  course,  often  made  a  third  in  these 
little  expeditions.  Marvin,  at  first,  thought  her 
rather  a  nuisance,  but,  becoming  used  to  her  pres- 
ence, soon  found  it  tolerable  for  a  portion  of  each 
day.  Her  wilfulness  amused  him;  so  did  the  skill 


HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER. 


95 


with  which  she  always  contrived  to  win  her  own 
way,  when  her  father's  opinion  differed  from  hers. 
She  had  a  pleasant  voice,  certainly ;  she  was  de- 
cidedly pretty;  on  the  whole,  a  very  nice  little 
girl.  He  summed  her  up  thus  to  himself  one 
morning  in  the  Musee  Rath,  whither  they  had 
strolled  through  the  crooked  streets  of  the  old  town. 
Among  the  blackened  canvases  and  staring  white- 
plaster  goddesses  his  eye  found  no  more  agreeable 
figure  than  hers  to  contemplate.  It  was  their  last  day 
in  Geneva.  On  the  next  he  let  them  go  their  way. 
He  had  no  thought  of  changing  his  own  plans. 
The  acquaintance  was  a  ten  days'  episode  of  travel, 
nothing  more.  He  found  their  places  in  the  train, 
and  saw  it  whisk  away  without  a  pang.  But  Love's 
quiver  was  an  arrow  short  for  all  that. 

Two  arrows,  in  fact !  Why  else  did  Helena's  eye- 
sight grow  dim  as  they  drew  out  of  the  dark  station 
into  the  glare  of  noonday  ?  Not  in  tribute  to  the 
sunlight  surely !  Nor  to  the  slope  of  the  Mont- 
Saleve,  nor  to  the  gilded  spires  of  the  Chapelle 
Russe,  nor  to  the  memories  of  Calvin  and  Jean- 
Jacques,  sad  as  it  was  to  leave  all  these  behind. 
Why  else,  later  on  at  night,  when  her  father  had 
fallen  asleep  in  his  corner  of  the  coupe,  did  she 
remain  awake  and  cry  her  eyes  out  nearly,  never 
breathing  to  herself  the  reason  ?  Ah,  Love  is  a 
sad  dog,  with  sly  tricks  and  manners  under  that 
bandage  of  his,  and  it  may  be  that  the  single  gentle- 
men are  right  when  they  say  that  the  less  one  has 
to  do  with  him  the  better. 


g£  JtOSES  OF  SHADOW. 

The  brain  records  some  trivial  thing,  turns  the  leaf 
and  we  think  its  record  is  effaced ;  but  years  after- 
ward it  stands  out,  freshly  written,  with  an  import- 
ance that  is  unaccountable.  To  Marvin,  now,  that 
moment  in  the  Musee  Rath  came  back  as  clearly  as 
though  it  were  a  mote  in  the  dusty  beam  of  sun- 
light streaming  through  his  window-pane.  "  On  the 
whole,  a  very  nice  little  girl."  He  was  standing 
under  a  bas-relief — Pradier's  master-piece  ;  he  had 
forgotten  the  subject,  but  he  remembered  distinctly 
the  place,  his  attitude  and  hers — even  their  sharply 
denned  shadows  on  the  polished  floor.  And  all  be- 
cause to-day  he  had  received  this  scrap  of  paper — 
this,  that  he  was  folding  over  and  over  and  over  in 
his  hands  !  He  dropped  it,  and  pulled  out  his  watch 
absently.  He  had  been  there  an  hour.  An  hour 
in  the  Musee  Rath — deplorable  waste  of  time ! 

The  visit  must  be  paid,  of  course,  and  the  sooner 
the  better.  Up  the  next  morning  long  before  the 
appointed  nautical  hour,  he  was  soon  tempted  out 
into  the  streets  that  looked  at  this  time  of  day 
strangely  unlike  themselves.  It  might  have  been  a 
Dutch  town,  with  such  a  persistent  washing  of  side- 
walks and  scrubbing  of  door-posts  everywhere  going 
on  in  it ;  and  not  a  familiar  face  was  to  be  seen.  By 
a  somewhat  indirect  course  he  made  his  way  to  that 
quiet  walk  along  the  bank  of  the  river  where  the 
city  "  shows  a  fair  Venetian  side ; "  the  water  was 
smooth  as  glass,  and  a  mile  away  toward  the  farther 
shore  a  wheezy  little  tug  was  towing  in  a  schooner 
round  which  there  circled  a  flock  of  hungry  gulls. 


HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER. 


97 


Close  in  under  the  wall,  almost  at  his  feet,  came  by 
a  solitary  oarsman  taking  his  morning  pull  up  the 
river  in  the  lightest  and  sharpest  of  shells.  Man 
and  boat  were  gone  in  an  instant,  and  Marvin  pur- 
sued his  way  undisturbed  along  the  rough  and  dusty 
road  that  in  those  days  was  known  only  to  morose 
single  gentlemen  and  to  lovers.  So,  almost  before 
he  knew  it,  he  found  himself  in  one  of  the  shady 
suburbs,  three  miles  at  the  least  from  his  breakfast, 
and  with  an  appetite  as  keen  as  any  gull's.  He 
wheeled  about  and  walked  in  briskly  by  another 
road,  which  brought  him  at  last  into  the  double 
avenue — Boston's  Champs  Elysees  in  little — 
reclaimed  from  marsh-land  and  river-bed  not  so  very 
long  ago.  Here  he  crossed  into  the  park  and  came 
down  under  the  elms  and  lindens  that  were  fragrant 
with  their  fresh  green  leaves.  The  trees  grow  larger 
and  thicker  as  one  enters  the  older  part  of  the 
avenue,  and  it  was  where  their  shade  is  deepest  that 
Marvin  saw  approaching  him  a  familiar  figure — one 
that  of  late  had  hovered  persistently  about  him  like 
an  evil  spirit, — none  other  than  that  of  Maitland 
Ambrose  himself!  Ambrose  saw  him,  too,  and 
hesitated  for  an  instant,  as  if  he  wished  to  avoid  a 
meeting ;  then  he  came  striding  on  with  coat-collar 
turned  up  about  his  throat,  though  the  morning  was 
anything  but  cold.  Marvin,  as  Othello  to  lago, 
"  looked  down  towards  his  feet "  and  saw,  not  a  cloven 
hoof,  but  trousers  that  could  only  belong  to  a  suit 
of  sables  ;  and  he  gave  himself  no  anxiety  about 
the  other's  health. 
7 


9g  POSES  OF  SHADOW. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  Ambrose.  He  evidently 
wished  to  stop,  so  Marvin  came  to  a  halt  and  saluted 
him. 

"  Up  rather  early,  aren't  you  ?  "  Ambrose  continued. 

"Yes;  and  you?" 

"  Oh,  I — "  Ambrose  glanced  at  his  own  cos- 
tume uneasily  and  tucked  away  the  end  of  his 
white  cravat  that  had  revealed  itself  inopportunely. 
The  man  does  not  live  who  can  be  unconscious  of 
a  dress  suit  at  eight  in  the  morning. 

"  And  you  ?  "  repeated  Marvin,  icily,  with  a  quiet 
enjoyment  of  his  confusion. 

"  The  fact  is,  you  know,"  Ambrose  answered, 
"  that  I've  been  up  all  night — in  town  for  a  kind  of 
lark,  just  the  tip  end  of  the  wing  of  one — a  little 
supper,  cards,  ct  cetera,  don't  you  see;  a  bit  of  a  bird 
with  the  boys." 

"  I'll  take  your  word  for  it,"  said  Marvin,  moving 
off,  "  don't  mind  me."  As  has  been  before  remarked, 
despite  his  ancestry,  he  was  no  Puritan;  but  he 
could  not  help  reflecting  that  the  man  was  but  just 
engaged,  and  this  meeting  jarred  upon  him  most 
unpleasantly. 

"  Hold  up ! "  said  Ambrose,  catching  him  by 
the  sleeve.  "You  needn't  happen  to  mention  it, 
that's  all.  I  telegraphed  home  that  I  was  detained 
to  work  up  a  case — Addison  vs.  Goes.  Do  you 
see  ?  " 

"  Clearly." 

"  Verb.  sap.  then,"  said  Ambrose,  releasing  him. 

"Paxvobiscum!"  replied  Marvin;  and  they  parted. 


HER  FA  THER '  S  DA  UGHTER.  gg 

Where  now  were  blue  sky  and  morning  sun- 
shine? Marvin  shivered  and  saw  them  no  more; 
he  saw  only  with  eyes  that  looked  a  little  space 
before  him  into  the  future  a  vision  of  the  woman 
he  loved  married  to  the  man  that  had  just  left  him; 
one  growing  daily  coarse,  indifferent,  brutal;  the 
other,  unhappy  and  prematurely  old,  chafing  under 
the  yoke  but  for  the  world's  sake  seeming  to  enjoy 
it.  Not  a  pleasant  composition,  this,  to  stand  in  a 
vista  of  arching  elm  trees.  But  it  is  a  group  that 
has  been  reproduced  often  enough  in  all  cities  the 
world  over. 

"  She  will  be  wretched  in  a  month,"  said  Marvin 
to  himself.  "  What  is  to  be  done  about  it  ?  "  What, 
indeed  ? 

Captain  Bromfield's  house  stood  in  one  of  the 
older  streets  of  the  fashionable  quarter.  It  had  a 
sunny  look  of  welcome  in  its  white  porch  and 
shining  door-knobs  that  were  kept  always  in  man- 
of-war  order.  The  snow-drops  and  crocuses  in  his 
little  front  grass-plot  were  invariably  the  first  to 
come  up  in  the  spring;  but  this  may  have  been 
merely  a  bit  of  good  luck.  Marvin  Avas  shown  at 
once  through  the  drawing-room  into  a  queer  little 
box  of  a  place  behind  it  called  the  captain's  cabin ; 
here  was  a  table  set  for  breakfast  upon  which  the 
well-trained  servant  immediately  laid  a  second 
cover.  The  room  seemed  certainly  not  large 
enough  to  swin^  a  cat  in  and  had  an  odor  of 

o  o 

the  sea.     It  contained   a   barometer,  chronometer 
and  sextant,  with  other  denotements  of  a  sailor. 


I00  HOSES  OF  SHADOW. 

The  inkstand  was  a  coil  of  rope ;  the  mantel-clock 
a  capstan  and  the  thermometer  an  anchor ;  all  three 
in  French  gilt  appropriately  inscribed  from  brother- 
officers.  Presently  the  clock  struck  nine,  and  in  a 
moment  all  the  other  clocks  in  the  house  had  taken 
it  up.  Then  there  came  a  tramping  upon  the  stairs 
and  the  captain  burst  into  the  room.  He  greeted 
Marvin  very  warmly;  then  he  drew  back  and 
passed  his  hand  rapidly  over  the  back  of  his  head 
in  a  way  that  was  peculiar  to  him  when  he  was  the 
least  bit  annoyed  or  excited. 

"That  clock  is  fast,"  he  said;  "I  was  sure  of  it." 
And  he  set  it  back  a  full  minute.  "  There,  that's 
better — you've  not  been  here  long  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Marvin,  "three  minutes,  thirty-five 
seconds,  accurately  speaking." 

"  Good,"  replied  the  captain, "  accuracy — nothing 
like  it.  At  sea  it  means  salvation."  And  he  rang 
the  bell  for  breakfast. 

During  the  meal  he  made  no  allusion  to  his  letter, 
but  it  was  evident  that  something  weighed  upon 
his  mind.  He  showed  more  than  his  usual  nervous- 
ness, leaving  the  table  now  and  then  to  adjust  a 
window-shade  or  to  look  at  the  thermometer,  and 
always  with  the  queer  application  of  his  hand  to  his 
head  that  seemed  to  have  a  soothing  tendency. 
When  they  had  finished  and  the  table  had  been 
whisked  out  of  the  way  by  his  orders,  he  produced 
cigars,  and  buttoning  his  coat  about  him  put  both 
hands  in  his  pockets  and  began  to  pace  up  and 
down  as  though  he  were  on  the  quarter-deck. 


HER  FA  THER '  S  DA  UGHTER.  l  o  z 

This  was  a  favorite  habit,  to  which  Marvin  was  well 
accustomed.  Presently  he  stood  still  and  sighed. 

"  I  want  some  information,"  he  began,  looking  at 
Marvin  sharply,  "and  you  are  one  of  the  few  men 
whom  I  would  ask  for  it.  My  daughter — " 

He  paused  as  if  waiting  for  some  sign  from  the 
other.  But  Marvin  did  not  move  a  muscle.  He 
had  half  expected  that  this  was  coming. 

"  My  daughter  is  engaged  to  a  man  whom  I  have 
hardly  seen.  I  hope  he  is  a  good  fellow — she  says 
he  is.  Tell  me  what  you  think  of  him."  He  re- 
sumed his  walk,  and  without  waiting  for  an  answer 
went  on : 

"You  are  about  his  age  and  better  able  to  judge 
him  than  if  you  were  an  older  man.  Between 
ourselves,  I  don't  like  his  looks;  but  I  should 
perhaps  say  the  same  of  any  son-in-law;  I  hoped 
to  die  without  one.  What  do  you  think  of  him  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  know  the  man,"  said  Marvin. 

"  You  meet  him  very  often  at  your  club." 

"  Yes,  there  and  nowhere  else." 

"  Well,  then,  what  does  your  club  think  of  him?" 

"  They  call  him  there  a  rattling  good  fellow." 

"Come,"  said  the  captain,  "that's  encouraging." 
He  strode  off  through  the  door  down  the  entire 
length  of  the  drawing-room  and  came  back  with  an 
expression  of  relief  upon  his  face.  He  was  not  a  club 
man,  and  he  did  not  know  exactly  what  "a  rattling 
good  fellow  "  meant,  but  it  sounded  well.  Moreover, 
he  was  in  that  state  of  mind  that  makes  one  glad  to 
put  the  best  construction  upon  what  he  hears. 


j  02  R  OSES  OF  SHAD  O  W. 

"  Easily  out  of  it,"  thought  Marvin;  "it  can  do  no 
good  to  tell  him  my  opinion.  The  thing  has  gone 
too  far;  and  I  am  prejudiced;  my  judgment  is  worth 
nothing."  Thus  do  we  juggle  with  our  consciences 
and  persuade  ourselves  that  what  is,  is  not,  when  it 
proves  convenient  to  have  it  so. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  the  cap- 
tain. "  You  have  cheered  me  up  immensely.  '  A 
good  fellow,' — if  I  thought  he  were  not — " 

Here  Marvin  caught  at  a  straw. 

"  In  that  case,"  he  said,  "  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  Do  ?  Turn  the  fellow  out  of  doors,  of  course. 
The  engagement  should  be  broken  at  once." 

Marvin  shook  his  head,  but  said  nothing. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  the  captain  asked. 

"  I  fear  that  would  only  make  matters  worse," 
Marvin  answered. 

"  Worse  ?     How  worse  ?  " 

"  My  opinion  is  worthless,"  protested  Marvin. 

"  That  may  or  may  not  be.     I  want  it." 

"  I  only  mean  that  to  oppose  the  match  seems  to 
me  the  surest  way  to  bring  it  about.  Violent 
measures  might  make  a  Romeo  and  Juliet  affair  of 
it.  If  he's  a  bad  fellow  give  her  a  little  time  and 
she  may  find  it  out.  There  are  some  women  that 
won't  be  driven  and — " 

"  Miss  Helena  is  one  of  them !"  he  was  on  the 
point  of  saying,  but  the  captain  stopped  him  with  a 
sharp  whistle. 

"  Upon  my  word,  Marvin,"  he  said,  "you  seem  to 
have  worked  this  out  pretty  well  already." 


HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHl^ER. 


103 


Marvin  bit  his  lip.  "  By  no  means,"  he  said;  "it 
is  a  very  hasty  judgment — a  bachelor's,  too." 

"  Some  bachelors  have  long  heads,"  returned  the 
captain.  "  It  is  very  odd  ;  I  came  to  the  same  con- 
clusion. I  have  not  dared  to  speak  to  her.  But 
the  man  makes  me  shiver.  Who  knows  what  his 
motives  may  be  ?  He  has  nothing,  and  she — but 
then  he's  a  rattling  good  fellow !  " 

"  Let  us  hope  so,"  said  Marvin.  "  At  any  rate,  to 
wait  is  best.  But  I  must  apologize  for  giving  you 
advice." 

The  captain  laid  his  hand  tenderly  upon  Marvin's 
shoulder. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  he  said,  "  you  have  made  me 
forget  the  difference  in  our  ages.  I  like  you.  If  you 
had  been  the  man — " 

Poor  Marvin  !  He  shook  himself  free  and  made 
no  answer. 

"  But  let  me  pay  you  back,"  continued  the  captain ; 
"  advice  for  advice.  Take  none  of  these  burdens 
upon  you.  You  are  contented,  and  married  life  is 
full  of  care.  Never  marry  !  " 

"  Thanks,"  said  Marvin,  "  I  shall  remember." 

Then  they  smoked  and  talked  of  other  things. 
The  captain's  genial  spirits  came  back,  and  he  spun 
a  yarn  in  his  best  vein.  Then  Marvin  thought  it 
time  to  go.  His  host  followed  him  to  the  door, 
and  solemnly  repeated  his  word  of  advice;  and 
again  Marvin  said,  "  I  shall  remember." 

The  very  next  day  it  was  that  Helena's  visit  at 
Winton  came  to  an  end,  and  she  returned  to  town. 


IO4 


ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 


Her  father  had  not  expected  her  so  soon,  and  it 
chanced  that  they  did  not  meet  till  late  in  the  day, 
when  Helena,  coming  in  from  a  walk,  stole  into  the 
little  cabin  on  tiptoe,  in  the  dusk,  flung  her  arms 
about  his  neck  and  kissed  him  before  he  knew  that 
she  was  there. 

"  Why,  papa,"  she  said,  "  you  have  been  crying  ! " 

"  No,  Ellie,  darling,"  he  answered.  "  Look  out 
for  my  cigar — you  drove  the  smoke  into  my  eyes." 

"  Oh,  poor  papa ! "  she  said,  and  kissed  away 
another  of  those  unbidden  tears. 

"  Sit  down  by  me,  Ellie,  and  tell  me  about  your 
visit.  Was  it  a  pleasant  one  ?  " 

She  knelt  at  his  side,  and  put  her  head  upon  his 
knee,  as  though  she  were  still  a  child.  She  was  very 
fond  of  him ;  but  she  did  not  dream  how  fond  he 
was  of  her. 

"  Yes,  papa,  a  delightful  visit ;  only  Maitland  just 
now  is  very  busy.  He  had  to  stay  in  town  and  sit 
up  all  night  over  a  horrid  lawsuit.  I  can't  bear  to 
have  him  work  so  hard." 

Her  father's  hand  had  fallen  lightly  upon  her  hair 
with  a  caressing  motion;  but  now  the  movement 
stopped.  She  noticed  it  at  once. 

"  And  that  reminds  me,  papa,  that  Maitland  has 
taken  a  strange  fancy  into  his  head.  He  thinks  that 
you  don't  like  him.  What  do  you  suppose  he 
means?" 

"  My  dear,  you  must  remember  that  I  hardly 
know  him  — " 

"  But  you  like  him,  don't  you,  papa?" 


HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER. 


105 


"And  you  must  remember,  too,  that  he  is  taking 
you  away  from  me."  He  saw  that  she  had  lifted 
her  head  and  was  looking  at  him  with  a  grieved 
expression,  and  he  went  on  hurriedly,  "  But  that  was 
to  be  expected,  of  course.  I  will  do  my  very  best 
to  like  him,  darling.  Marvin  tells  me  he  is  a  capital 
fellow." 

"  Mr.  Marvin  ?  "  Helena  spoke  the  name  very 
coldly. 

"  Yes,  he  breakfasted  with  me  yesterday.  You  see 
he  did  you  a  good  turn." 

"  I  am  extremely  obliged  to  him." 

"  Thank  you  for  nothing,  I  suppose  you  mean  ; 
it  sounds  like  it.  What  has  Marvin  been  doing  ?  I 
thought  you  were  good  friends." 

"  So  we  are  ;  but  he  is  worse  than  ever.  He  is 
horribly  selfish." 

"  All  men  are  selfish,  Ellie,  1  am  afraid." 

"  All — except  one  !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course,  every  goose  thinks  her 
gander  is  a  swan  !  " 

"  Oh,  papa,  then  there  are  two  unselfish  men,  for 
I  meant  you."  And  she  leaned  over  and  kissed  him 
once  more. 

He  held  her  hand  a  moment  without  speaking  ; 
then  he  said,  softly,  "  I  am  very  selfish ;  I  want  you 
all  to  myself." 

"  Do  you,  papa,  really  and  truly  ?  " 

"  At  my  worst,  yes — at  my  best,  I  only  want  to 
be  sure  that  you  are  happy." 

She  gave  a  laugh  like  the  merry  note  of  a  bird. 


I06  KOSES  OF  SHADOW. 

"  Oh,  if  that's  all !  "  she  said,  in  a  tone  that  was  an 
echo  of  the  laugh. 

"  You  are  happy — very  happy  ?  " 

"  Very  happy !  Sleep  in  peace,  as  the  Frenchmen 
say." 

"  I  will,  darling,"  he  answered,  lightly;  "  but  after 
dinner.  Ring  the  bell,  dear,  it  is  time."  And  while 
she  crossed  the  room,  he  sighed. 


VI. 


MOTHS    OF   A    FEATHER. 

JACK  ELLISTON,  in  telling  Marvin  that  profes- 
sional anxiety  must  keep  him  a  little  longer 
in  the  country,  told  the  truth,  but  with  a  mental 
reservation.  Who  is  there  that  will  not,  at  times, 
hold  back  something  from  his  dearest  friend  ?  The 
builders  worried  Jack;  but  not  half  so  much  as  did 
another  affair  that  lay  nearer  his  heart.  In  this  he 
felt  that  there  was  a  crisis  coming;  and  it  was  really 
to  round  that  turning-point  that  he  stayed  on  at 
Winton  watching  for  a  favorable  moment.  The 
moment  came,  and  it  passed  with  marvelous  swift- 
ness. Like  an  untrained  swimmer,  he  had  shivered 
an  endless  time  upon  the  brink  to  find  the  plunge  a 
matter  of  a  second  only. 

It  was  one  of  the  last  days  in  May — warm  as  a 
summer  day;  and  it  was  the  day  of  Miss  Gerard's 
recovery.  Jack  had  been  busy  all  the  afternoon  with 
his  mechanics,  and,  tired  and  hungry,  he  had  taken 
the  shortest  cut  toward  home,  through  the  fields ;  the 
sun  beat  down  upon  him  fiercely  for  fully  half  the 
way ;  then  he  came  into  the  woods  that  skirted  the 
river,  and  finding  the  shade  refreshing,  he  strolled 
leisurely  along  the  bank,  switching  off  the  leaves  to 

107 


T Qg  XOS£S  OF  SHADO  W. 

the  right  and  left  of  him  with  his  stick,  absently,  as 
one  that  has  a  weight  upon  his  mind.  Suddenly, 
at  a  turn  in  the  path,  he  came  to  a  stand-still,  with 
a  low  whistle.  There,  a  few  yards  in  front  of  him, 
was  Miss  Gerard,  in  search  of  wild  flowers,  as  it 
seemed,  for  she  carried  a  small  basket  upon  her 
arm,  and  as  he  stopped,  she  knelt  down  to  brush 
away  the  leaves.  Dressed  in  the  becoming  suit  of 
dark  blue  that  she  wore  so  often,  she  made  now  the 
prettiest  of  pictures,  as  Jack  could  not  help  remark- 
ing. Yet  he  hesitated  for  a  moment  and  seemed 
half-inclined  to  turn  back;  then  he  went  on  and 
joined  her. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  is  that  you  ?  See  !  Isn't  that 
moss  lovely?  I  wish  I  had  some  of  it." 

He  plunged  off  into  the  woods  and  came  back 
with  a  handful  of  the  gray  shroud  that  covered  the 
dead  fir  at  which  she  had  pointed. 

"  You  oughtn't  to  be  here,"  he  said.  "  It  is  too 
damp  in  the  woods  for  an  invalid." 

She  laughed.  "  Oh,  I  am  reckless.  It  is  pleasant 
to  be  out  again.  And  so  Mr.  Marvin  is  gone,"  she 
said,  putting  the  moss  tenderly  away  in  her  basket. 

"Yes.  He  stayed  longer  than  I  dreamed  he 
would.  You  know  he  does  not  care  for  the 
country." 

"  Nor  for  anything  else  very  much,  does  he  ?  " 
asked  Miss  Gerard.  Jack  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"  Pray  what  does  he  do  with  himself?  "  she  con- 
tinued. 

"  He  is  an  ornament  to  our  leisure  class,"  said 


MOTHS  OF  A  FEATHER. 

Jack.  "  Then  he  has  his  property  to  look  after — 
he  is  fairly  well  off,  you  know — " 

"  I  see,"  said  Miss  Gerard. 

"  Then,  too,  he  is  a  bit  of  a  philosopher — " 

"  Philosopher !  "  she  exclaimed,  indignantly.  "  A 
selfish  old  woman-hater,  I  should  call  him." 

"  I  don't  think  it,"  said  Jack.  "  He  is  not  so 
very  old,  and  he  may  be  caught  yet.  He  will  be !" 
he  added,  with  conviction. 

"  Some  women  are  such  fools ! "  said  Miss  Gerard. 

"  He's  a  good  fellow,"  Jack  replied.  And  then  it 
was  Miss  Gerard's  turn  to  shrug  her  shoulders  and 
be  silent. 

They  walked  on,  and  the  silence  continued  till  it 
became  awkward.  It  seemed  to  Jack  as  if  nature 
were  holding  its  breath  to  listen  for  the  next  word. 
The  house  was  hardly  a  mile  away,  but  they  might 
have  been  walking  in  a  primeval  forest;  the  sun- 
shine was  intermittent,  the  underbrush  was  dense 
and  almost  impenetrable  on  either  side  of  the 
narrow  woodland  path  they  followed.  It  led  them 
now  back  again  to  the  river,  and  through  the 
branches  Jack  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  canoe  at  its 
mooring  some  distance  down  the  stream.  They 
were  nearing  home  then.  His  pace  slackened 
involuntarily. 

"  A  penny  for  your  thoughts,"  said  Miss  Gerard. 

"  You  shall  have  them  for  nothing,"  he  answered. 
"  They  are,  perhaps,  worth  less  than  that." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  said  Miss  Gerard.  "  I  advise  you 
then  to  keep  them  to  yourself." 


j  j 0  KOSES  OF  SHAD O IV. 

Jack  looked  at  her  intently.  "  Do  you  say  so 
because  you  have  guessed  my  thoughts  already  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Pray  how  should  I  know  of  what  you  are  think- 
ing ?  "  she  returned,  in  a  tone  of  indifference  that 
chilled  him;  but  he  had  gone  too  far  now  to  retreat. 

"  You  ought  to  know — you  ought  to  understand. 
There  are  some  things  that  explain  themselves 
without  words.  Haven't  I  been  following  you 
about  like  a  dog  for  the  last  three  months  ?  Why? 
Because  I  love  you  !  That's  the  whole  story,  and 
if  you  haven't  guessed  it  the  fault  is  not  mine." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Miss  Gerard.  She  had 
not  changed  color,  and  there  was  no  tenderness  now 
in  her  voice. 

"  Sorry !  "  repeated  Jack. 

"  I  like  you  very  much — "  she  continued. 

"  Stop  !  "  he  said.  "  You  needn't  go  on.  You 
want  to  tell  me  that  you  will  always  be  my  friend. 
That's  no  answer  for  a  man  who  would  die  for  you, 
or  sell  his  soul  for  you.  You  do  not  care  a  button 
for  me — say  it  if  you  mean  it." 

"  It  is  very  unfortunate,"  she  replied  with  the 
respect  that  Jack's  earnestness  commanded,  "  but  I 
have  no  other  answer  to  give.  It  is  all  a  dreadful 
mistake.  I  did  not  mean  to  encourage  you — " 

"  No,"  said  Jack,  "  no  more  does  the  flame  mean 
to  encourage  the  moth.  But  somehow  he  gets  into 
it  and  burns  his  wings.  The  more  fool  he.  The 
more  fool  I  for  loving  you  more  than  ever  at  this 
moment.  Imbecility  is  incurable." 


MO  THS  OF  A  FEA  THER.  1 1  ! 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Gerard,  "  it  may  be  cured— it 
must  be." 

"  How  ?  " 

"  By  putting  out  the  light ;  it  misleads — it 
blinds  you.  You  do  not  know  me  at  all.  I  am 
the  most  selfish,  the  least  amiable  of  creatures.  I 
should  make  you  the  worst  of  wives.  See  how  for- 
tunate it  is  that  I  do  not  care  for  you — in — in  that 
way." 

"  No,"  replied  Jack,  resolutely ;  "  it  won't  do.  I 
am  not  to  be  cured  so.  You  must  let  me  go  on 
hoping  against  hope  that  some  time — " 

"  For  not  another  moment,"  she  answered,  almost 
angrily  ;  "  you  force  me  to  be  unkind  rather  than 
unjust.  I  do  not  love  you;  I  cannot  love  you. 
What  you  ask  is  impossible ;  to  continue  to  talk  of 
this  is  equally  so." 

They  went  on  in  silence,  with  steps  that  had 
quickened  nervous'ly.  Presently  they  came  to  a 
little  clearing  where  the  path  took  another  turn ;  at 
a  point  very  near  the  river-bank  under  an  old  oak 
tree  was  a  wooden  bench — the  same  upon  which 
Marvin  had  discovered  Miss  Gerard  in  his  early 
morning  stroll.  She  went  up  to  it  now  and  threw 
her  basket  down  there. 

Jack  took  another  step  and  stood  still  in  the 
path  before  her.  "  Is  this  your  final  word  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  except  to  beg  you  to  be 
reasonable  and  not  ridiculous — or  you  will  drive 
me  away." 


II2  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

"  I  am  a  fool,"  he  replied,  "  but  not  fool  enough 
for  that.  I  give  you  my  word  not  to  annoy  you  in 
any  way.  Shake  hands  and  forget." 

She  took  his  hand.  "  Very  good,"  she  said, 
quietly, — "  friends." 

He  gave  a  little  gesture  of  disgust.  "  No,  not 
friendship  !  Indifference  is  better — much  better ! " 
said  he. 

She  did  not  even  look  at  him.  "  I  am  tired," 
she  said,  seating  herself  in  a  graceful  attitude  of 
mild  fatigue.  "  I  shall  wait  here  and  rest  a  little. 
Please  go  on;  I'll  come  presently." 

"  Good-bye,  then,"  said  Jack,  gloomily ;  and  turn- 
ing he  strode  down  the  path  alone. 

"  Till  dinner !  "  she  called  after  him,  in  tones  that 
were  provokingly  cheerful.  She  watched  him  pass 
out  of  sight  behind  a  great  white  pine  tree,  and 
gave  a  little  sigh  of  relief  when  he  was  gone.  "  It 
is  a  pity !  "  she  said ;  "  I  did  not  believe  he  would  do 
it."  And  she  laughed  a  little  at  the  remembrance 
of  Jack's  woe-begone  face.  "But  he  will  recover," 
she  added,  drawing  out  her  watch,  "  and  I  sent  him 
away  none  too  soon — that  is,  if — " 

The  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  interrupted 
her  meditations.  She  listened  as  if  to  assure  her- 
self that  the  intrusion  was  not  to  be  dreaded  ;  then 
as  the  step  drew  nearer  along  the  path  behind  her, 
she  shook  out  the  folds  of  her  dress  a  little,  caught 
up  the  tiny  basket  and  busied  her  hands  with  it,  delib- 
erately making  a  picture  of  herself.  A  good  one, 
it  must  be  confessed.  So  thought  Mr.  Musgrave, 


MOTHS  OF  A  FEATHER.  l  j  3 

for  it  was  he  whose  solemn  presence  now  looked 
down  upon  her.  He  was  faultlessly  dressed  for  an 
afternoon  stroll  and  carried  a  huge  white  umbrella ; 
no  doubt  he,  too,  had  taken  that  short  cut  across 
the  fields. 

"  Ah !  "  he  said  in  his  usual  expansive  way.  Miss 
Gerard  did  not  seem  awed  in  the  smallest  degree. 

"  I  thought  you  were  not  coming,"  she  said,  "you 
did  not  write."  And  she  made  room  for  him  upon 
the  bench. 

He  sat  down  and  looked  at  her  with  admiration 
in  his  eyes.  The  tables  were  turned ;  it  was  the 
idol  now  that  worshipped — and  the  girl  evidently 
knew  her  power  over  him. 

"  I  could  not  write,"  he  said;  "  I  had  not  the 
means — not  a  single  cover  left  for  hidden  fire ! " 
And  he  laughed  at  the  little  joke  that  he  had  made 
his  own. 

"  These,  you  mean,"  she  returned,  drawing  from 
the  basket  a  little  package  of  envelopes  and  hand- 
ing them  to  him.  They  bore  her  own  address  in 
her  own  hand,  like  the  one  that  Mr.  Elliston  had 
let  fall  the  day  of  Marvin's  arrival.  "  You  may  use 
them  all  if  you  choose — but  I  shall  write  no  more 
letters  to  you." 

"  Ah— and  why  ?  " 

"  Because  you  lost  the  last  one — dropped  it  upon 
the  lawn  in  plain  sight ;  do  you  remember  the 
night  you  rode  by  in  the  dark  and  stopped  under 
my  window  ?  Fortunately,  it  was  I  who  found  it 
in  the  morning !  "  she  added,  unblushingly. 
S 


j  j  .  R  OSES  OF  SHAD  O  W. 

"  It  is  your  own  fault.  You  make  me  go  about 
at  midnight  like  a  thief.  If  you  would  let  the  world 
know,  instead  of  persisting  in  this  strange,"  uncon- 
ventional whim  of  yours — " 

"  It  is  not  a  whim  at  all !  If  you  let  them  know, 
if  you  call  it  an  engagement,  I  shall  have  no  peace 
until  you  have  married  me — I  think  we  shall  never 
be  married." 

"  Absurd !     Who  is  to  prevent — " 

"  Everybody.  The  whole  family  would  turn 
against  me.  Your  sister  would  drive  me  out  of 
doors.  She  would  find  a  way  to  break  it  off  She 
would  tell  you  it  is  a  mesalliance.  She  would  tell 
you  lies — lies !  " 

Mr.  Musgrave  straightened  himself  up.  "  You 
forget,"  he  said ;  "  it  is  of  my  sister  you  are  speak- 
ing." 

"  I  can't  help  it ;  why  will  you  make  me 
wretched  ?  She  is  sure  to  hate  me  always  for  this. 
You  cannot  pretend  not  to  know  that." 

Mr.  Musgrave  ploughed  up  the  ground  with  the 
tip  of  his  umbrella.  "  And  if  she  does,"  he  asked, 
"what  will  it  matter?" 

"  Not  a  sou,  when  we  are  married.  Oh,  I  shall 
like  it !  But  before — no !  It  is  too  much — you 
must  not  ask  it  of  me." 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  gently.  He  shook 
it  off  "Can't  you  trust  me?"  she  asked,  very  softly; 
and  when  she  put  the  hand  back  he  did  not  resist 
again.  In  a  moment  he  spoke  and  his  voice 
trembled  a  little. 


MO  TKS  OF  A  FEA  THER.  1 1 5 

"  Well,"  he  said, "  you  will  have  it  so.  There  must 
be  a  private  marriage — a  scandal — a  damnable  story 
for  the  newspapers  !  " 

"  It  will  be  forgotten  in  a  week,"  she  replied. 
"  What  is  it  to  a  man  in  your  position  ?  You  can 
laugh  at  the  scandal,  and  I  shall  not  disgrace  you. 
You  are  not  going  to  be  ashamed  of  me." 

"  When  are  we  to  be  married  ?  "  was  his  answer. 
"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked,  for  she  had  with- 
drawn her  hand,  and  looked  at  him  now  with  an 
air  of  displeasure. 

"  I  do  not  like  to  have  you  yield  in  that  way. 
'  When  are  we  to  be  married  ?  ' — as  though  it  were 
the  drawing  of  a  tooth,  or  any  other  bitterly  dis- 
agreeable thing.  If  you  really  loved  me  — " 

"  But  I  agree  to  anything!"  he  protested.  "Is 
not  that  enough  ?  You  don't  expect  me  to  make  a 
nine  days'  wonder  of  myself  and  like  it,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  see  we  shall  never  understand  each  other," 
said  Miss  Gerard  in  a  -tone  of  the  deepest  melan- 
choly. 

But  Mr.  Musgrave  declared  that  his  one  desire 
was  to  please  her  in  all  things,  and  that  he  was  ready 
to  kneel  then  and  there  on  the  damp  ground  at  her 
feet,  if  she  chose  to  exact  that  proof  of  his  devotion. 
So,  little  by  little,  she  allowed  herself  to  be  pacified, 
and  then  their  talk  took  a  practical  turn.  It  was 
agreed  that  they  should  be  married  privately  some 
time  in  the  course  of  the  month  following;  that  the 
marriage  should  be  published  at  the  time,  and  that 
after  the  honeymoon  they  should  return  to  town  and 


KOSES  OF  SHADOW. 

receive  their  friends.  "  Every  one  will  be  away," 
said  Mr.  Musgrave;  "it  will  make  less  talk  at  mid- 
summer than  at  any  other  season." 

"  Precisely,"  said  Miss  Gerard,  though  she  realized 
the  fallacy  perfectly  well.  The  one  thing  that  could 
not  be  determined  was  the  positive  date  of  the  wed- 
ding. Mr.  Musgrave  had  important  business  calling 
him  from  home  that  must  be  settled  first ;  all  would 
depend  upon  that ;  but  to  the  scheme,  and  to  the 
irregular  manner  of  it,  he  gave  his  consent ;  indeed,  it 
was  clear  that  he  had  come  there  for  no  other  pur- 
pose. 

Thus  this  strange  pair  of  lovers  talked  and  trifled 
as  the  shadows  lengthened  round  them,  until  Miss 
Gerard  suddenly  realized  that  the  daylight  was 
almost  gone. 

"  It  is  very  late,"  she  said,  springing  up.  "  They 
will  think  I  am  lost." 

He  caught  her  by  the  hand,  and  drawing  her  to 
him,  held  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her.  She  sub- 
mitted to  his  caress  without  returning  it,  and  it  left 
her  pale  and  cold.  "  Lun  baise  et  Fautre  tend  la 
jotic,"  says  the  bitter  French  proverb.  One  gives 
the  love,  and  one  receives  it!  Had  Mr.  Musgrave 
been  other  than  he  was,  he  must  have  doubted  her 
at  that  moment.  But  self-esteem,  like  a  subtle  nar- 
cotic, had  long  dulled  his  senses,  and  he  wore  now 
Love's  thickest  blinder.  He  loved  her,  that  was 
enough. 

He  stood  still,  watching  her  as  she  hurried  away, 
and  he  longed  to  be  young  again.  At  the  pine  tree, 


MOTHS  OF  A  FEATHER.  l  jy 

where  the  path  turned  off  into  the  woods,  she  looked 
back  and  threw  him  a  kiss  with  the  sweetest  grace 
imaginable.  He  had  waited,  hoping  she  would  do 
it.  The  night  dews  were  upon  him  ;  he  shivered  a 
little,  drew  on  his  gloves,  rolled  up  his  umbrella,  and 
went  his  own  solemn  way. 

One  star  gleamed  in  the  pale  sky  when  Miss 
Gerard  came  out  of  the  thicket  upon  the  farther 
edge  of  the  lawn,  and  she  recalled  a  line  of  poetry 
that  in  turn  reminded  her  of  Jack's  reproaches. 

"  '  The  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star,' "  she  said. 
"  The  star  shines  no  brighter  for  it,  and  I  am  like 
the  star.  All  the  moths  in  the  world  could  not  make 
me  happy.  But  if  there  were  a  man  who  loved  me 
— whom  I  loved — Betises  \  I  might  as  well  hope 
for  Heaven !" 


VII. 

CASA    BRUNI. 

rPHERE  is  a  certain  noisy  thoroughfare  that, 
1  starting  at  one  of  the  sunniest  spots  in  Boston, 
follows  the  river  shore  for  a  mile  or  so,  and  finally 
loses  itself  in  a  terra  incognita  of  wharves,  coal- 
sheds  and  freight-houses  ;  as  in  some  man's  life  we 
see  a  fair  beginning  with  nothing  meaner  nor  poorer 
than  the  end.  Undoubtedly,  this  should  have  been  a 
fine  street ;  trees  were  planted  in  it ;  it  has  handsome 
houses  still.  But  it  threw  open  a  level  course  across 
the  city  for  the  teamster  and  his  laboring  horses ; 
all  his  heaviest  loads  were  naturally  drawn  that  way. 
Then  the  horse-car,  that  symbol  of  progress,  was 
invented  to  come  tinkling  and  clattering  through  it 
at  all  times,  seasonable  and  unseasonable ;  till  now 
hardly  an  hour  of  the  day  or  night  passes  when  a 
tired  soul  may  find  peace  there.  Distracting  noise 
has  driven  out  the  old  inhabitants  ;  and  within  their 
gates  has  sprung  up  an  unpleasant  fungous  growth 
of  stables  and  bar-rooms  ;  or  the  butcher  and  baker 
throw  open  the  shutters  of  the  basement,  while 
overhead  swarms  of  single  gentlemen  set  up  their 
household  gods  as  bees  store  honey,  each  in  his  own 
little  cell.  English  travelers  often  say  that  Boston 
118 


CASA  BRUNI.  llg 

reminds  them  of  London  ;  and  this  street,  certainly, 
does  bear  a  faint  resemblance  to  a  dull  and  common- 
place side  of  London— the  London  of  Baker  Street, 
for  instance,  or  the  Edgeware  Road.  The  ugliness 
is  there,  and  only  the  fog  and  the  soot  are  wanting. 

Like  other  and  better  bits  of  London  are  the 
queer  little  nooks  that  lie  between  all  this  restless- 
ness and  the  river.  Quaint,  irregular,  quiet  places, 
that  bear  to  Charles  Street  something  of  the  rela- 
tion that  the  Adelphi  Terrace  does  to  the  Strand ; 
except  that  these  picturesque  spots  in  Boston  lie 
very  near  the  fashionable  quarter,  and  are  rebuilt 
year  by  year  with  splendid  modern  houses. 
Where  this  has  been  done,  good  taste  has  left  them 
something  of  their  picturesqueness;  and  they  still 
have  to  be  discovered,  no  stranger  knows  them; 
their  repose  is  truly  grateful,  and  the  wind  and  the 
water  are  their  only  disturbing  elements ;  for  some- 
times in  winter  the  river  breaks  over  stone  wall 
and  iron  railing  and  whitens  the  pavement  with  its 
salt  spray. 

Prowling  about  one  day  in  search  of  the  unat- 
tainable, Bruni  found  in  one  of  these  by-ways  an 
old  wooden  house  that  had  escaped  the  destroyer's 
hand.  It  stood  very  near  the  river  and  had  a  north 
window  with  plenty  of  unreflected  light.  Sagely 
keeping  his  own  counsel,  he  went  and  hired  it  at  a 
low  rent  for  a  term  of  years.  When  the  lease  was 
signed  in  duplicate,  he  put  one  copy  of  it  in  his 
pocket  and  invited  his  wife  to  look  at  the  premises; 
and  when  she  had  been  dragged  up  the  rickety 


R  OSES  OF  SHAD  O  W. 

stairs  to  his  much-coveted  north  window  he  quietly 
asked  her  how  she  would  like  to  live  there.  She 
informed  him  that  the  place  was  "  a  rattle-trap!" 
Thereupon  there  was  a  scene.  Bruni  dramatically 
produced  the  lease,  and  his  weaker  half,  with  that 
splendid,  pure,  north  light  streaming  over  her, 
all  but  had  a  fit  of  hysterics.  Bruni  bore  her  away 
dissolved  in  tears,  that  did  not  move  him  in  the 
least.  He  remained  brutal  almost  to  laughter,  firm 
and  unrelenting.  In  the  end,  of  course,  he  gained 
his  point,  with  certain  concessions  that  were  in- 
evitable from  the  first.  The  objectionable  staircase 
was  given  a  new  turn ;  partitions  were  pulled  down 
and  put  up;  the  house  was  repainted  within  and 
without  in  colors  of  Mrs.  Bruni's  own  choosing. 
Even  the  shingled  roof  had  a  coat  of  what  Bruni 
called  "  a  soft  green."  So  that  by  the  time  the  house 
was  ready,  " she  of  the  strong  mind"  (thus  Bruni 
designated  his  wife  among  his  cronies)  had  grown 
almost  cheerful  about  it.  "  It  is  the  shopping,"  he 
said,  with  a  chuckle,  "  a  day's  shopping — real  shop- 
ping, where  things  must  be  '  matched '  and  bar- 
gained for — will  bring  a  smile  to  the  face  of  the 
saddest  American  woman." 

The  bloom  of  novelty  worn  off,  the  house  became 
like  any  other  house  to  Mrs.  Bruni.  As  soon  as 
there  was  nothing  more  to  buy  for  it,  she  resumed 
her  wonted  round  of  lectures  and  committee  meet- 
ings. She  had  no  children,  and  Bruni  was  cer- 
tainly trying  at  times.  What  more  natural,  her 
friends  asked,  than  that  she  should  identify  herself 


CAS  A  BRUNL  I2I 

with  the  cause  of  Woman  ?  Her  reappearance  at 
their  solemn  councils  was  hailed  with  delight- 

o 

especially  as  she  now  came  out  with  all  the  strength 
of  her  New  England  nature  in  favor  of  Dress 
Reform.  In  an  anonymous  paper  on  "  Vestured 
Vanities"  she  denounced  the  corset,  and  maintained 
that  no  thought  should  be  taken  of  the  morrow, 
and  that  the  garb  of  her  sex  should  be  sad-colored 
and  angular,  of  one  severe  and  formal  cut,  unto  the 
end  of  time.  Above  all,  the  garment  of  the 
future,  the  despair  of  tyrannous  tradesmen,  must 
"  hang  from  the  shoulder."  "  Hard  upon  those  that 
are  sloping,"  Bruni  suggested,  and  was  silenced  with 
a  look.  But  with  that  delightful  inconsequence 
which  is  not  the  least  of  woman's  charms,  Mrs. 
Bruni,  in  her  own  dress,  still  followed  perilously 
close  upon  the  prevailing  fashion.  She  was  not  a 
plain  woman,  and  it  may  be  that  she  feared  to  make 
herself  conspicuous  ere  the  new  day  had  dawned. 

So,  in  that  quiet  corner  by  the  river  u  all,  it  was 
a  house  that  the  north  light  flooded — not  a  home. 
But  Bruni  was  Italian,  and  the  true  meaning  of  the 
latter  word  was  unknown  to  him.  Though  his 
wife  grew  daily  more  and  more  like  the  invisible 
Madame  Benoiton  in  the  French  comedy,  he  made 
no  direct  remonstrance;  he  shut  himself  up  in  the 
studio  that  was  wife  and  child  to  him,  and  when 
there  was  no  light  left  he  locked  the  door  and  went 
off  to  his  club,  more  a  bachelor  than  the  bachelors 
themselves.  Fortunately  for  an  artist,  his  work, 
with  the  brush  at  least,  must  stop  at.  sundown. 


I22  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

Of  course  this  unconventional  order  of  things 
made  the  household  fair  game  for  the  gossips.  Mrs. 
Bruni's  friends  (chiefly  women — men  rarely  liked 
her)  shook  their  heads  and  said  that  Cesare  Bruni 
neglected  his  wife  shamefully.  Other  watchful  and 
kindly  persons  asserted  that  the  fault  lay  all  with 
her.  While  a  third  faction  stood  always  ready  to 
maintain  that  no  fault  whatever  existed  upon  either 
side,  and  that  Casa  Bruni  was  an  Eden-bower  of 
bliss.  However  it  may  have  been,  Bruni,  inconsist- 
ent, unpractical  and  selfish  as  he  often  was,  had  a 
personal  charm  that  attracted  even  those  who  dis- 
approved of  him.  He  was  not  a  true  Bohemian ; 
he  preferred  high  life;  but  he  went  anywhere,  was 
welcome  everywhere;  men,  women,  children  and 
dogs  liked  him. 

The  studio  was  more  a  work -shop  than  a  museum. 
Bruni  had  always  been  too  poor  to  collect  rare 
tapestries  and  antique  gems.  But  it  was  by  no 
means  a  barrack-room.  One  wall  was  well  covered 
with  the  work  of  various  hands — sketches,  studies 
and  finished  pictures  of  brother-artists.  Another 
vast  space  was  masked  by  the  ivy  that  grew  over 
it  from  a  great  jar  in  a  corner.  The  slip  from  which 
this  splendid  leafy  screen  had  sprung  brought  tears 
to  Bruni's  eyes  when  he  first  looked  upon  it,  merely 
because  it  came  from  Tuscany,  and  his  birthplace 
was  Arezzo.  Like  him,  it  had  been  transplanted, 
and  had  gained  and  lost  something  in  the  process. 
He  pruned  and  trained  it  tenderly,  and  its  living 
green  delighted  his  heart.  Near  by,  quite  in  shadow, 


CAS  A  BRUNI.  !23 

hung  a  faint  pencil  drawing  yellow  with  age.  No 
one  ever  spoke  of  it,  perhaps  no  one  ever  noticed  it 
at  all ;  it  had  little  merit  as  a  work  of  art,  but  was 
merely  Bruni's  portrait  of  his  first  wife,  who  had  been 
dead  and  buried  over  there  in  Tuscany  so  many  years. 
Into  this  gentle  atmosphere,  so  unlike  the  nipping 
one  of  Boston  that  most  of  us  know,  came  Helena 
Bromfield  two  or  three  times  a  week  to  pose  for  the 
portrait  of  which  she  had  told  Marvin  in  an  un- 
guarded moment.  A  little  maid  tripped  in  behind 
her,  silently  arranging  Helena's  dress  in  the  ante- 
chamber, and  as  silently  stowing  herself  away 
afterward  in  a  remote  part  of  the  studio,  where  she 
worked  demurely  upon  something  woollen  with  long 
wooden  needles.  Sometimes  the  captain  or  Ambrose 
would  look  in  for  a  moment,  glance  at  the  unfinished 
picture  critically,  with  an  ill-considered  suggestion, 
and  go  away  again.  Of  these  visits  Bruni  had  come 
to  have  a  nervous  dread  that  was  very  unusual  in 
him.  The  fact  was,  that  he  found  Helena  a  difficult 
subject.  Either  her  best  expression  was  desperately 
hard  to  catch,  or  he  had  blundered  fatally  to  begin 
with  in  attempting  to  paint  her  half  in  shadow. 
Exactly  what  was  wrong  he  could  not  tell.  So  he 
painted  in  and  painted  out ;  one  day  the  likeness 
would  seem  to  him  nearly  perfect,  and  the  next  the 
face  would  look  insipid  as  any  in  an  antiquated 
"  Book  of  Beauty."  Then,  groaning  in  spirit  he 
would  smilingly  declare  the  sitting  ended,  and  gnash 
his  teeth  in  despair  the  moment  Helena  had  gone. 
This  was  invariably  the  case  when  Ambrose  had 


j 2.  AOSZS  OF  SHADO W. 

been  with  them.  He  did  not  like  Ambrose.  "  Why 
is  it?"  he  would  ask  himself.  "  What  earthly  reason 
is  there  ?  "  Then  his  eyes  would  wander  away  to  a 
canvas  that  stood  on  the  floor  in  a  corner  with  its 
face  to  the  wall,  and  he  would  smile  sadly  and  leave 
the  question  without  an  answer. 

And  now  one  afternoon  he  walked  away  from  his 
easel  with  an  air  of  weariness,  and  threw  his  palette 
and  brushes  down. 

"  That  will  do,"  he  said  to  her  almost  savagely. 
It  was  with  himself  that  he  was  angry. 

Helena  stepped  down  from  the  little  platform 
surprised  and  pleased.  The  hour  had  seemed  very 
short. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  it  is  finished  ?  "  she  asked, 
drawing  away  into  the  proper  light,  and  looking 
askance  at  the  picture  with  half-closed  eyes. 

"  By  no  means !     We  have  only  done  for  to-day." 

Helena  went  up  to  the  easel.  "  Tell  me,"  she  said 
presently,  "  do  you  work  at  this  when  I  am  not 
here  ?  " 

Bruni  laughed.     "  Why  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Because  it  never  looks  to  me  twice  the  same  — " 

"  Are  you  dissatisfied  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no — no  indeed.     Pray  don't  think  that !  " 

"  I  know,"  said  Bruni,  "  it  is  like  the  web  of 
Penelope — an  endless  task.  Perhaps  it  would  be 
better  to  end  it  so  !  "  And  he  caught  up  his  palette- 
knife. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  she  said,  coming  between  him  and  the 
picture.  "  Is  all  my  time  to  be  wasted  ?  " 


CASA  BRUNI.  I2c 

"  Ah,  we  will  try  again  with  better  luck." 

"  And  give  up  the  day  like  cowards  ?  No  !  We 
will  finish  this,  or  I  will  never  sit  to  you  again." 

Bruni  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  tossed  the 
knife  away.  The  little  maid  rose  and  detached  her- 
self from  her  clinging  mass  of  sky-blue  worsted. 

"  How  beautiful  that  ivy  is !  "  said  Helena,  by 
way  of  changing  the  subject.  She  walked  over  to 
the  wall  and  touched  the  vine  overhead.  "  What 
splendid  shining  leaves!  May  I  have  one — just  one?" 

She  stood  with  her  arm  outstretched  against  the 
dark-green  background,  and  turned  toward  him 
smiling.  "  What  a  pose  that  would  have  been  !  "  he 
said  to  himself.  Then  aloud  :  "  Oh,  as  many  as 
you  please!  " 

She  picked  two  leaves  by  mistake,  and  one  of 
them  fluttered  down  to  the  floor.  A  draught  of  air 
caught  it  and  carried  it  into  the  corner,  where  there 
was  a  canvas  leaning  with  its  face  to  the  wall. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  asked  Helena,  as  she  stooped  for 
the  leaf. 

"That?"  said  Bruni.  "That?"  he  repeated  in 
a  queer,  embarrassed  tone.  "  What  doyou  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  this  !  "  she  replied,  putting  her  hand  upon 
the  picture.  "  May  I  see  ?  "  Then,  as  he  did  not 
answer  immediately,  she  looked  at  him  sharply,  and 
added,  with  a  little  toss  of  her  head,  "  Oh,  a 
mystery!"  But  she  did  not  withdraw  her  hand. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  he ;  "  the  picture  is 
unfinished,  that's  all — but  I  shall  be  glad  to  show 
it  to  you." 


I26  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

So  he  wheeled  up  an  easel  to  fasten  the  canvas 
upon  it.  And,  this  done,  he  trundled  the  picture 
about  the  studio,  carefully  keeping  it  turned  away 
from  Helena  until  he  could  be  sure  of  just  the 
light  he  wanted.  "  It  needs  a  frame — I  have  none 
large  enough,"  he  said ;  "  but  there — you  can  see  it 
now." 

She  crossed  the  room  and  stood  beside  him  with 
her  back  to  the  great  north  window.  The  picture 
was  of  a  landscape — one  thrice  familiar  to  her — 
and  the  first  look  was  enough  to  make  her  wish 
that  she  had  been  less  hasty  or  that  Bruni  had  been 
more  disobliging.  In  the  foreground  rose  a  splen- 
did oak  tree,  gnarled  and  twisted  and  old  ;  like  that 
famous  one  in  the  forest  of  Arden, 

"  Whose  antique  root  peeps  out 
Upon  the  brook  that  brawls  along  this  wood." 

There,  too,  the  brook  swept  away  in  shadow, 
foaming  first  round  some  huge  stepping-stones  over 
which  two  figures  seemed  passing  with  uncertain 
feet.  In  the  background  was  a  wide,  green  meadow, 
full  of  sunshine;  and  away  to  the  right  another  oak, 
with  another  and  still  another  beyond.  It  would 
have  passed  for  a  finished  picture  but  for  the  figures 
which  were  hardly  indicated. 

This  charming  subject  was  certainly  the  very 
last  one  that  Helena  had  expected  to  see.  She  felt 
her  cheeks  burn,  and  she  could  not  help  fearing 
that  Bruni  was  a  very  deep  person  and  that  he  had 
tried  to  startle  her.  She  dared  not  meet  his  eye  ; 


CASA  BRUNI.  12~ 

she  could  not  run  away;  she  must  say  something, 
she  knew.  To  wander  from  the  truth  a  little — a 
very  little — seemed  best.  A  mistake  that  an  older 
woman  would  not  have  made. 

"  Lovely !  "  she  stammered  ;  "  what  trees  are 
those?" 

"  The  Waverley  Oaks,"  said  Bruni  simply.  "  I 
thought  you  knew  them." 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  she  replied,  repentant  and  more 
and  more  disturbed.  "Now  I  see!" 

"  Spring-time  !  "  said  Bruni,  apparently  absorbed 
in  the  picture.  "  An  old  subject — overdone  enor- 
mously— but  I  want  to  try  it  once.  The  figures 
trouble  me.  Shall  I  make  a  shepherd  and  a  shep- 
herdess— shall  they  wear  colonial  dress,  or  shall 
they  be  quite  modern — of  our  day  ?  " 

"  Shepherd  and  shepherdess,"  said  Helena,  gain- 
ing courage.  "  After  all,"  she  thought,  "  how 
should  he  know  I  ever  crossed  that  brook  ?  " 

"  I  knew  you  would  say  that !  "  Bruni  answered, 
"but  I  want  to  do  the  impossible — to  paint  the 
lovers — of  course  they  are  lovers — of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  yet  with  nothing  commonplace 
about  them.  Do  you  see?  As  if  they  had  strayed 
away  into  Arcadia  and  grown  suddenly  poetical." 

"  For  half  an  hour,"  said  Helena,  bending  forward 
to  look  more  closely  at  the  picture.  There  was  a 
queer  dimness  in  her  eyes.  The  light  was  very  trying. 

"  Oh,"  said  Bruni,  carelessly,  "  ten  minutes ! 
Long  enough  to  catch  them  there  !  " 

He  started  at  his  own  words.     He  had  not  meant 


j  2  8  R  OSES  OF  SHAD  O  W. 

to  say  exactly  that.  There  was  a  moment  of  silence ; 
then  Helena  beckoned  to  the  maid  who  brought  her 
cloak  ;  and,  as  she  put  it  on,  Miss  Bromfield  said  : 

"  I  would  paint  the  figures  out  if  I  were  you.  I 
think  they  spoil  it." 

"  But  then — my  idea  ?     What  becomes  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  It  is  your  problem,  after  all, 
and  not  mine.  I  can't  advise  you.  Good-bye! "  And 
she  was  gone,  with  the  maid  following,  like  a  pet 
dog,  at  her  heels. 

Bruni,  left  alone,  thrust  his  hands  deep  into  his 
pockets  and  stood  staring  at  nothing  like  a  caged 
owl.  "  Who  knows  most,  believes  least,"  he  said, 
oracularly,  "  and  it's  no  affair  of  mine.  But  know- 
ing so  much  I  wish  I  knew  a  little  more."  Then 
he  paced  up  and  down  the  room,  scratching  his 
head  and  knitting  his  brows.  Finally  he  stopped 
again  before  the  picture.  "  There,  just  there  !  "  he 
thought,  laying  his  finger  emphatically  upon  the 
stepping-stones.  "  Now  I  wonder  if  he  really  made 
her  an  offer  in  Arcadia  that  day.  Who  can  tell  ? 
But  I  know  he  loves  her,  and  it  was  well  done  to 
cut  that  little  pig  short  in  his  story  the  other  night. 
Why,  in  the  names  of  all  the  saints  did  she  look  so 
strangely  just  now  ?  Ah,  she  has  taken  the  wrong 
man — there  are  times  when  any  girl  will  do  that. 
And  now  it  is  too  late.  Ambrose !  Bah ! "  There- 
upon, he  bustled  about  the  studio,  setting  it  to 
rights  in  an  angry  fashion  that  gave  a  kind  of  Latin 
accentuation  to  a  dislike  that  was  entirely  unwar- 
rantable, since  Ambrose  had  never  hurt  a  hair  of 


CASA  BRUNI. 


129 


his  head.  But  he  liked  Marvin ;  and,  lying  under 
the  shadow  of  the  oak  on  that  memorable  afternoon 
in  Waverley,  he  had  drawn  his  own  discreet  con- 
clusions, and  had  settled  the  match  in  his  own 
mind  to  his  entire  satisfaction.  There  was  a  warm 
spot  that  would  betray  itself  now  and  then  in 
Bruni's  heart,  though  he  tried  to  think  it  was  all 
dust  and  ashes.  He  had  been  born  for  the  joys  of 
domestic  life  and  they  had  been  denied  him.  He 
railed  against  marriage  ;  yet  could  he  have  married 
Marvin  and  Miss  Bromfield,  by  main  force,  on  the 
spot,  nothing  for  the  moment  would  have  pleased 
him  better. 

He  put  away  the  landscape  and  the  portrait,  too, 
over  the  latter  shaking  his  head  sombrely.  As 
he  went  down  the  stairs  he  looked  in  at  the  open 
door  of  his  little  drawing-room.  Perhaps  he  hoped 
to  find  his  wife,  but  she  was  not  there.  In  the  hall 
hung  a  porcelain  tablet,  upon  which  he  read, 
scrawled  in  pencil,  "  Educational  Tea  at  seven." 
"  Of  course ! "  he  said,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders ; 
then  he  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  strolled  off  toward 
the  club,  where,  upon  reflection,  it  seemed  best  to 
him  to  dine;  and  there,  dining  alone,  was  Marvin, 
who,  though  he  liked  to  sit  apart,  now  threw  down 
his  newspaper  and  joined  Bruni  unbidden.  And 
Bruni  joked  and  laughed,  and  his  white  teeth  glis- 
tened, and  his  leathern  cheek  was  all  in  wrinkles. 
Then,  over  the  coffee  and  the  cognac  he  begged 
Marvin  to  smoke  a  cigar  in  his  studio.  So  this  he 
did  two  or  three  times  over,  and  they  sat  together 
9 


ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

in  the  dark  at  a  deeply-recessed  window,  that  was 
always  screened  off  in  the  daytime,  through  which 
they  now  looked  out  upon  the  wide  blackness  of 
the  river  and  the  rows  of  light  shining  into  it  from 
the  distant  bridges.  And  Mrs.  Bruni  never  dis- 
turbed them  even  for  a  moment;  and  Bruni  told  of 
his  early  life  :  how  he  had  fought  for  Italian  liberty; 
how  he  had  been  wounded  and  imprisoned,  and 
had  seen  Mazzini  once,  and  Garibaldi.  Then  he 
would  burst  out  with  some  bit  of  his  own  philosophy, 
startling  in  its  extravagance,  and  would  end  by 
laughing  himself  at  his  too  advanced  ideas.  And, 
now  and  then,  his  mind  would  dwell  for  a  moment 
upon  Marvin's  love  affair,  and  he  would  wonder  if 
Marvin  had  any  remote  suspicion  of  the  sympathy 
that  was  latent  in  him.  He  did  not  mention 
the  Waverley  Oaks;  nor  did  he  offer  to  show  Miss 
Bromfield's  portrait;  nor  did  Marvin,  for  his  part, 
ask  to  see  it,  though  he  must  have  remembered 
that  it  was  there. 

But  when  the  time  came  for  breaking  up,  there 
was  a  very  friendly  note  in  Marvin's  voice,  as  he 
thanked  Bruni  for  his  hospitality.  The  grip  of  his 
hand,  too,  was  warmer  than  it  need  have  been  for  a 
couple  of  dried  tobacco  leaves.  "  He  knows, — he 
knows,"  said  Bruni  to  himself,  locking  the  hall 
door  behind  his  guest.  "  There  is  a  time  to  crack 
jokes  and  a  time  to  keep  silence, — but  he  would 
rather  die  than  tell  me  so.  That's  because  he  is 
American.  But  I  don't  want  his  thanks.  No  !  It 
is  enough  that  he  knows  and  is  grateful." 


VIII. 

FACES    IN   THE    CROWD. 

IT  was  just  at  this  time  that  Surbiton,  the  favorite 
actor,  died  suddenly,  leaving  a  widow  and  one 
small  child  with  hardly  a  dollar  in  the  world.  For 
the  moment  the  city  talked  of  nothing  else.  The 
poor  fellow,  after  a  struggle  for  existence,  just  as  the 
future  seemed  to  promise  everything,  was  knocked 
senseless  by  a  falling  scene  at  rehearsal,  and  never 
spoke  again.  Exeunt  Touchstone  and  Falstaff, 
Goldfinch,  Ollapod,  and  all  the  rest,  to  be  seen  no 
more !  The  great  actor  has  his  years  of  toil,  his 
intoxicating  triumph  surpassing  any  that  the  poet  or 
the  painter  knows  ;  and  when  all  is  said  and  done, 
he  leaves  but  the  faintest  of  scores  on  the  world's 
calendar.  Already  we  begin  to  wonder  if  Garrick 
had  mastered  the  rudiments  of  his  calling.  Who 
knows  if  Talma  in  our  time  would  have  been  counted 
really  great  ?  And  as  for  poor  Tom  Surbiton,  who 
thinks  of  him  now  ? 

But  for  a  few  hours  he  was  sincerely  mourned. 
The  great  public  spoke  his  name,  sighed,  and  was 
sorry.  Verses  were  made  in  his  honor,  his  obituary 
notices  were  half  a  column  long.  It  is  a  pity  that 
we  never  say  our  kindest  things  about  a  man  until 


T  ,  ,  ROSES  OF  SHADO  W. 

15^ 

after  he  is  dead  and  gone.  Here  was  one  whose 
heart  would  have  been  far  lighter  could  he  have 
foreseen  that  his  dear  public,  often  indifferent  and 
chilling,  would  not  only  heap  laurels  upon  his  grave, 
but  would  even  consider  it  a  duty  to  bestir  itself  in 
behalf  of  his  family.  He  had  his  successes,  it  is 
true,  but  nothing  in  his  life  like  the  memorial 
benefit  that  brought  his  widow  in  what  seemed  to 
her  a  fortune ;  and  indeed  it  was  a  very  pretty  sum 
for  those  days.  The  whole  affair,  from  first  to  last, 
was  all  that  Surbiton  himself  could  have  desired. 
Many  good  actors  offered  their  services — it  was  late 
in  the  season,  and  their  engagements  were  over — 
and  professed  themselves  ready  to  play  anything 
from  Hamlet  to  the  Second  Grave  Digger  for  his 
sake.  The  play  finally  chosen  was  "  The  Tempest ; " 
it  had  been  revived  within  the  year,  and  the  scenery 
needed  no  preparation.  As  for  the  cast,  it  beggared 
all  description  of  the  gentlemen  who  write  the  hand- 
bills and  posters.  They  printed  the  list  without  com- 
ment, and  in  uniform  type  down  to  the  very  sprites 
and  mariners.  What  an  array  of  noble  names  it 
was  !  And  the  next  day  the  blue-faced  monkey  of 
a  circus  blotted  it  out.  Take  comfort,  ye  obscure 
ones  that  write  for  the  stage  and  act  upon  it,  only  to 
miss  the  mark !  Nothing  is  so  soon  forgotten  as 
theatrical  failure — nothing  except  theatrical  success. 
They  made  of  it  what  is  called  a  morning  per- 
formance, because  it  occurs  always  in  the  afternoon. 
"  You  must  go,"  said  little  Hunter  to  Marvin  one 
night  at  the  club,  "  all  the  crust  will  be  there ! " 


FACES  IN  THE  CROWD.  j^ 

And  Marvin  thereupon  perversely  decided  to  stay 
away.  But  when  the  time  came,  he  thought  better 
of  it,  and  at  vast  expense  procured  a  seat — a  very 
poor  one,  remote  from  the  stage.  When  the  curtain 
fell  upon  the  first  act,  Hunter's  speech  recurred  to 
him.  "  Let  me  see  which  of  us  are  crust !"  he  said 
to  himself,  and  struggled  out  of  his  seat  to  survey 
the  house.  The  theatre  was  very  full ;  and  there 
was  an  unwonted  hum  and  bustle  about  it,  as  if 
every  one  were  saying  to  his  neighbor :  "  We  are 
safe,  these  are  our  friends."  Marvin  found  a  vacant 
place  near  the  stage,  and  looked  about  him.  All 
the  world  was  there,  undoubtedly.  It  was  not  long 
before  he  discovered  Hunter,  with  a  yellow  rose  in 
his  button-hole,  whispering  amiably  in  the  ear  of  a 
chalky  and  angular  young  woman,  in  whom  Marvin 
recognized  Miss  Jewsbury ;  but  he  looked  another 
way  when  he  found  that  Miss  Bromfield  and  her 
lover  sat  directly  behind  them.  Far  away  on  the 
other  side  of  the  house  Captain  Bromfield  had  dis- 
creetly placed  himself,  alone.  And  directly  oppo- 
site, leaning  against  the  wall,  stood  Jack  Elliston. 

Marvin  was  at  once  reminded  that  he  had  not 
seen  Jack  for  days ;  not  since  his  return  from  the 
country,  in  fact.  He  would  go  round  through  the 
lobby  and  join  him.  He  pushed  open  the  little 
door  at  his  side,  took  one  more  look  at  the  crowded 
theatre,  and  then — 

The  door  swung  back  into  its  place,  that  was  all. 
He  did  not  go.  And  why? 

Merely  because,  for  the  past  few  seconds,  some 


j  ,  .  R  OSES  OF  SHAD  O  W. 

one  down  there  in  the  crowd  had  been  trying  an 
experiment  which  needs  nothing  more  than  a  pair 
of  sharp  eyes.  These  should  be  fixed  upon  a  face 
in  a  crowd — a  distant  face,  the  farther  away  the 
better,  so  long  as  the  eyes  in  it  are  discernible.  In 
a  few  moments,  more  or  less,  as  the  case  may  be, 
those  eyes  will  turn  to  meet  yours,  if  it  is  you  who 
make  the  experiment.  It  will  be  a  coincidence,  or 
it  will  be  due  to  magnetic  influence,  according  to 
your  faith  in  the  occult  sciences,  or  otherwise.  Try 
it  the  next  time  you  are  at  the  play,  and  decide  the 
question  for  yourself. 

No  thought  of  this  problem  crossed  Marvin's 
mind  when  he  let  go  the  door.  He  saw  that  the 
eyes  were  fixed  on  him,  that  there  was  recognition 
in  them,  that  they  were  the  eyes  of  Miss  Gerard. 
She  was  alone;  there  was  a  vacant  place  beside 
her ;  she  sat  but  a  few  rows  in  front  of  Miss  Brom- 
field.  All  these  things  he  saw  too  in  a  flash. 
Which  one  of  them  made  it  seem  his  duty  to  pay 
his  respects  to  her  ?  Who  shall  say  ?  It  is  by  no 
means  certain  that  he  could  have  answered  that 
question  himself. 

Miss  Gerard  knew  perfectly  well  that  he  would 
come ;  yet  when  he  appeared  she  affected  a  pleased 
surprise,  and  at  once  moved  into  the  vacant  place, 
begging  him  to  take  hers.  As  he  did  so,  he 
chanced  to  catch  Miss  Bromfield's  eye  for  an 
instant,  and  he  observed  that  she  was  watching  him. 
But  one  cannot  bow  and  smirk  across  a  crowded 
theatre.  She  made  no  sign ;  and  he  seemed  not  to 


FA  CES  IN  THE  CR  O  WD.  l  ^  ? 

see  her,  but  began  at  once  to  smile  upon  his  neigh- 
bor with  an  air  of  mingled  devotion  and  content- 
ment, as  if  this  place  at  her  side  were  the  only  one 
on  earth  he  had  ever  coveted.  And  Miss  Gerard 
was  radiant. 

"  Are  you  alone  ? "  he  asked,  when  they  had 
compared  notes  about  the  play. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  replied.  "  This  seat  was  for 
Annette ;  but  she  is  ill,  and  so  I  came  alone.  I 
hope  you  are  not  sorry." 

"Quite  the  reverse.  This  is  a  great  piece  of 
good  luck." 

"  Then  stay  and  keep  me  company.  That  is, 
unless  you  leave  better  company  behind." 

"  No  ;  I  had  only  my  own  thoughts." 

"  And  they  are  dangerous,  I  am  sure.  You  will 
stay  ?  "  she  asked. 

"With  pleasure,"  answered  Marvin.  And  then 
the  bell  tinkled,  the  great  drop  scene  rattled  up  out 
of  sight,  and  the  second  act  began. 

Meanwhile,  as  has  been  said  already,  this  little 
scene  had  not  passed  unnoticed.  Two  of  the 
spectators,  in  fact,  had  been  so  absorbed  in  it  as  to 
find  stage  illusion  for  the  time  impossible ;  Pros- 
pero's  enchanted  island  might  have  been  Nova 
Zembla,  for  aught  they  knew  or  cared.  Jack  Ellis- 
ton  still  leaned  against  the  wall,  twisting  and  pulling 
his  moustache,  while  his  blood  rose  to  fever  heat, 
and  his  face  contracted  with  a  vicious  scowl.  All 
through  the  first  act  he  had  been  watching  Miss 
Gerard  with  a  hopeless  longing,  that  yet  carried 


ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

with  it  a  vague  kind  of  comfort.  Suddenly  Marvin 
stepped  in  between  them — by  a  preconcerted  plan, 
too,  for  of  course  that  vacant  seat  was  his.  This 
conclusion  was  natural  enough,  for  Jack  had  re- 
turned to  town  the  day  after  his  discomfiture ;  and 
since  then  he  had  passed  most  of  his  time  in  repeat- 
ing Miss  Gerard's  crushing  words.  They  were 
signs  that  pointed  all  one  way.  She  loved  another 
man.  Well,  here  the  man  was !  Marvin  !  Marvin, 
whom  he  had  fancied  a  blighted  being — whom  he 
had  treated  with  tender  consideration.  Now  all 
was  clear.  Marvin's  delight  in  the  country;  his 
fondness  for  early  morning  walks;  his  curious 
questions  about  Miss  Gerard;  these  latter,  mere  sub- 
terfuges, of  course ;  no  doubt  he  had  known  her 
for  years.  So,  as  "jealousy  shapes  faults  that  are 
not,"  Jack  went  on  from  one  suspicion  to  another, 
and  began  inwardly  to  accuse  Marvin  of  treachery, 
and  to  call  him  viper  and  various  other  hard  names. 
What  were  Ariel  and  Caliban  to  him  ?  The  stage 
thunder  roared  and  rumbled,  but  he  hardly  heard  it. 
Upon  Helena  Bromfield  almost  at  the  same 
moment  a  sudden  chill  had  fallen.  From  the 
brightest  sunshine  to  the  deepest  shadow  is  always 
but  a  step.  And  even  that  step  need  not  be  taken. 
Wait,  and  the  shadow  will  surely  come.  Out  of 
her  father's  anxiety  a  vague  fear  had  grown  to 
haunt  her.  What  was  it?  She  would  not  permit 
herself  to  think.  She  put  the  question  out  of  her 
mind.  But  in  Bruni's  studio  it  came  again  in 
clearer  shape  and  she  was  forced  to  answer  it.  Was 


FACES  IN  THE  CROWD.  ,,- 

she,  indeed,  making  a  mistake  to  be  repented 
bitterly  in  after  years?  No!  She  assured  herself 
with  tears  in  her  eyes.  No !  She  repeated  bravely 
in  the  watches  of  the  night,  and  once  more  the 
ghost  was  laid.  To-day  she  sat  beside  the  man 
whom  she  had  promised  to  love,  whom,  as  she 
tried  to  think,  she  could  love  better  than  any 
other  in  the  world.  And  before  her  eyes  there 
passed  another  man  who  turned  his  back  upon  her 
to  smile  upon  another  woman.  The  man  whom 
she  had  called  selfish,  of  whom  she  had  no  right  to 
think.  Had  she  not  willed  it  so  herself?  Woman's 
will  is  Heaven's  will  he  had  told  her.  This  time 
it  was  no  phantom  doubt  to  be  dismissed  with  a 
single  word.  The  truth  stared  her  in  the  face  and 
it  appalled  her.  There  was  the  man  she —  No! 
She  could  not  say  the  word  even  to  herself!  But 
she  hated  that  woman  with  her  cat-like  ways  de- 
coying him  away.  And  it  was  she  who  had  brought 
them  together.  That  photograph — that  unlucky 
photograph  had  been  the  means.  Had  she  not 
begged  him  to  ply  Miss  Gerard  with  questions? 
And  he  had  not  even  found  time  to  return  it — had 
forgotten  it  now,  perhaps.  But  she  had  no  more 
the  right  to  blame  him  than  to  think  of  him  in 
that  way.  What  were  they  doing  on  the  stage  ? 
How  bright  the  colors  were  in  all  their  dresses ! 
What  were  they  saying?  She  heard  the  words, 
but  they  were  like  words  in  a  dream — she  could 
not  put  them  together.  She  was  very  miserable! 
It  seemed  as  if  she  had  grown  old  in  an  instant, 


, 3g  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

as  if  all  her  senses  were  oppressed  and  dulled.  A 
mist  seemed  to  hang  between  her  and  the  actors. 
Through  it  their  figures  flitted  away,  afar  off.  Was 
she  going  to  faint  and  make  a  scene?  She  opened 
her  fan  and  flourished  it  about  Ambrose  turned 
and  whispered  to  her.  "  Are  you  ill  ?  "  he  asked. 
The  color  came  rushing  up  into  her  face.  She 
breathed  more  freely.  She  could  hear  and  see. 
The  people  were  laughing  and  applauding.  But 
why  Caliban  should  caper  about  so  strangely  she 
could  not  remember,  she  did  not  know. 

After  the  third  act,  with  its  solemn  and  strange 
music  and  the  "  high  charms  "  by  which  the  con- 
spiring princes  "are all  knit  up  in  their  distractions," 
Miss  Gerard  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  it  is  enchanting." 

"  Yes,"  said  Marvin,  smiling,  "  that  is  the  word." 

"You  know  what  I  meant  to  express,"  she  re- 
torted, with  a  shade  of  annoyance  in  her  tone. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  and  I  envy  you." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you  thoroughly  enjoy  it.     I  can  not." 

"Do  you  mean  that  this  bores  you?"  she 
asked. 

"  No,  not  that.  But  I  can  not  feel  about  it  as 
you  do.  It  is  all  very  well ;  but  there  is  no  en- 
chantment in  it  for  me." 

She  drew  another  long  breath.  "  You  must  have 
a  very  dreary  time  of  it,"  said  she. 

"  Oh,  I  do !  "  he  answered,  laughing. 

"  And  yet,"  she  went  on,  "  I  envy  you  decidedly. 


FACES  IN  THE  CROWD. 

I  pay  for  all  my  emotions.  I  enjoy  a  little — then  I 
am  very  wretched.  For  you  there  is  neither  heat 
nor  cold.  You  live  in  the  temperate  zone.  Your 
equanimity  is  delicious  ;  it  would  make  you  a  wise 
counselor — a  good  friend.  You  are  a  very  safe 
person." 

How  well  she  knew  her  man  already !  This  in- 
sidious flattery  touched  him  at  a  vulnerable  point. 
It  was  like  the  scratch  of  a  venomed  stiletto ;  and 
the  poison  at  once  began  to  work. 

"  A  kind  of  social  anchor,"  he  said,  benignantly. 
"Yes,  I  am  heavy  enough  for  that  perhaps." 

She  gave  one  of  the  quiet  little  laughs  that  he 
liked  to  hear.  Rather  too  soft  and  musical  it  was 
for  honest  laughter.  She  was  congratulating  her- 
self upon  her  success  with  him. 

"  You  are  too  modest,"  she  said.  "  I  would  come 
to  you  with  a  problem  to  be  solved,  with  a  secret 
if  I  had  one."  Here  she  opened  her  eyes  very 
wide  and  looked  at  him  ingenuously.  "  I  would 
trust  you  as  I  would  a  father  confessor." 

"  With  anything  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  straight 
into  the  eyes  and  admiring  them. 

"  With  anything !  "  she  repeated.  Then  she 
lowered  her  eyelids  a  little  in  a  becoming  way. 
Her  lashes  were  fine ;  and  beside,  just  then  over 
Marvin's  shoulder  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  Jack 
Elliston's  distant  face,  and  even  in  the  distance  it 
bored  her.  In  a  moment  more  the  bell  tinkled 
again  and  the  play  went  on. 

Too    soon,  as  it   must   always    come,   the   time 


I40  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

arrived  for  Prospero  to  break  his  staff  and  drown 
his  book.  The  green  curtain  fell  upon  his  insub- 
stantial pageant ;  the  epilogue  was  spoken — the  great 
performance  was  over.  The  audience  shouted, 
stamped,  applauded,  recalling  the  players  again  and 
again ;  then  it  began  to  disperse  reluctantly,  slowly. 
Miss  Gerard  moved  toward  one  of  the  side  doors  of 
the  theatre  and  Marvin  followed  her,  after  one 
restless  glance  behind  him  toward  the  place  where 
Miss  Bromfield  should  have  been;  but  she  was 
already  gone.  Neither  he  nor  his  companion  spoke 
as  the  crowd  carried  them  along  with  it  under  the 
flaring  lamps  of  the  corridors.  A  fine  play  often 
leaves  one  in  a  dazed  condition  much  as  a  pleasant 
dream  does.  The  first  thought  is  rather  a  sad  one  : 
"  This  is  only  I  after  all — here  is  the  world  again ! " 
and  it  takes  a  moment  or  two  to  recover  one's 
balance.  But  when  they  came  into  broad  daylight 
at  the  theatre  doors  Miss  Gerard  looked  at  Marvin 
anxiously  and  asked  the  time. 

He  pulled  out  his  watch  and  started.  "After 
five!"  said  he.  "We  have  been  almost  four  hours 
in  the  place." 

"  So  late ! "  she  cried,  looking  more  and  more 
disturbed  "  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  and  she  clasped 
her  hands  in  picturesque  despair. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked,  with  a  look  of  amuse- 
ment 

"  I  have  missed  the  train — the  time  never  occurred 
to  me.  What  will  they  think  ?  " 

"Is   that   all?   They  will  think  that  you   have 


FACES  IN  THE  CROWD.  ,4I 

missed  it,  and  you  will  take  the  next.     There  is 
another,  of  course?" 

"  Yes ;  but  not  for  two  or  three  hours.  I  am  not 
sure  of  the  time.  How  utterly  stupid  of  me  !  " 

Marvin  laughed.  "  You  look  as  if  you  were  alone 
among  cannibals.  Reassure  yourself.  I  will  pro- 
tect you.  As  for  the  train — just  wait  here  a 
moment." 

He  dashed  across  the  street,  bought  an  evening 
paper  at  a  news-stand  and  was  back  again  in  an 
instant.  "  There  is  your  train,"  he  said ;  "seven- 
forty-five  !  "  and  he  pointed  at  the  figures  in  the  time- 
table. "This  is  the  most  delightful  of  adventures," 
he  continued.  "  We  shall  have  time  for  a  walk  and 
something  to  eat  into  the  bargain.  I  am  at  your 
service  and  glad  of  the  chance." 

As  they  walked  on  Miss  Gerard  protested  against 
the  sacrifice  which  she  felt  he  must  be  making  for 
her  sake.  He  replied  that  nothing  could  suit  him 
better,  that  he  was  ready  to  go  when  she  was  tired 
of  him,  and  that  until  then  there  was  no  more  to  be 
said.  And  she  discreetly  said  no  more. 

"  You  are  saving  me  from  myself,"  Marvin  went 
on,  as  they  turned  into  one  of  the  broad,  trim  walks 
of  the  Common.  "  Think  what  it  must  be  to  dine 
every  night  in  the  same  corner  of  your  club  with 
the  same  bottle  of  claret  and  the  same  review,  or 
with  your  own  particular  bete  noire  if  the  fancy  suits 
him.  Any  change  is  a  relief,  and  to-night  I  gain 
enormously." 

"  Which  is  your  club  ?  "  asked  Miss  Gerard. 


I42  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

"  The  y£gean  :  there  it  is  ;"  and  he  pointed  with 
his  stick  toward  the  stone  balcony  that  seemed  to 
frown  upon  them  through  the  trees. 

She  looked  at  it  curiously.  "  There  is  one  of  the 
creatures  now  on  the  balcony,"  she  said. 

"  It  is  Jack  Elliston.  Shall  I  signal  him  to  join 
us  ?  "  asked  Marvin,  mischievously. 

"  As  you  please,"  she  replied.  But  she  was  ready 
to  catch  his  arm  if  he  really  meant  to  carry  out  the 
threat.  He  did  not  mean  it,  however,  and  just  then 
Jack  turned  back  into  the  house. 

"  So  that  is  where  you  live,"  said  the  girl  as  they 
walked  on.  "  I  see  why  you  are  dreary.  Tell  me, 
are  you  alone  in  the  world  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Marvin,  gravely.     "  Quite  alone." 

"  I  understand,"  she  said,  in  a  gentle  voice.  "  My 
life  has  been  a  very  lonely  one — like  yours." 

"  Tell  me  about  it,"  Marvin  returned. 

"  Not  now, — another  time ;  you  promised  me  a 
walk ;  let  us  go  on  and  enjoy  it." 

So  they  went  on  rather  soberly  to  the  end  of  the 
path  and  then  through  one  of  the  huge  gateways 
out  into  the  sunny  garden  that  lies  beyond.  Here 
all  was  light  and  color ;  the  flowers  on  all  sides  were 
grown  in  great  masses  of  red,  purple  and  yellow, 
triumphs  of  art  and  splendid  to  behold;  they 
seemed  to  take  a  sort  of  peacock  pride  in  their  own 
beauty,  and  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  like  animate 
things.  Miss  Gerard  lingered  long  over  a  vast  bed 
of  pansies  that  had  been  carefully  shaded  from  the 
faintest  violet  to  the  deepest  purple. 


FACES  IN  THE  CROWD.  I43 

"  It  is  like  a  painter's  work,"  she  "said ;  "  I  did  not 
know  there  were  so  many  colors  in  existence." 

"  Yes,"  said  Marvin,  "  but  see ;  that  is  finer  still." 

He  pointed  to  the  clear  expanse  of  western  sky 
that  was  all  aglow  with  a  light  indescribably  beauti- 
ful and  serene.  A  distant  spire  loomed  up  against 
it,  and  through  the  pointed  windows  the  same 
sunset  gold  was  shining. 

"  The  colors  of  another  world,"  said  Marvin. 

"  You  are  right,"  she  answered.  "  This  is  all 
forced  and  artificial.  I  doubt  that  water  even  ;  it  is 
unreal.  Let  us  go  to  the  river,"  she  added,  abruptly. 

They  crossed  the  garden  through  the  admiring 
throng  that  at  this  hour  and  season  is  always  to  be 
found  there,  and  in  a  few  moments  came  out  upon 
that  neglected  walk  along  the  river  wall  in  which 
Marvin  delighted.  Here  they  found  themselves 
absolutely  alone. 

Miss  Gerard  leaned  upon  the  rough  wooden 
railing  to  look  at  the  water.  A  breeze  was  spring- 
ing up  and  the  waves  came  dashing  in  against  the 
granite  blocks  at  her  feet. 

"  I  call  this  the  city  of  wasted  opportunities," 
said  she;  "you  tear  down  your  best  relics  of  the 
past,  spend  your  money  for  a  thing  like  that — "  and 
she  pointed  to  the  distant  obelisk  of  Bunker  Hill, 
"  leaving  a  place  like  this  to  tramps  and  vagabonds ! " 

"  And  to  us,"  Marvin  replied.  "  Bless  the  city 
fathers !  It  is  still  possible  to  enjoy  this  unmolested." 

"  I  am  never  tired  of  watching  a  river,"  said  Miss 
Gerard,  "  but  this  is  too  tame.  I  know  one  that 


ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

leaps  and  rushes  and  laughs  and  roars.  Ah !  That 
is  a  great  river;  there  is  some  life  in  it  I  have 
looked  at  it  for  hours." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  At  the  convent.  Do  you  know  the  convent  of 
Notre  Dame  de  Lorette  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Marvin. 

"  Of  course.  How  should  you  ?  It  is  on  the  shore 
of  the  Niagara  river  just  above  the  Falls.  From  my 
window  I  could  look  straight  down  into  the 
wildest  part  of  the  great  rapid.  It  was  glorious — 
like  an  evil  spirit  all  unchained.  I  used  to  sit  there 
and  read  '  Undine,'  till  I  believed  in  Kiihleborn." 

"  I  think  I  remember  the  place.  It  is  on  the 
Canadian  side — " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Miss  Gerard.  "  In  Canada,  of 
course.  I  am  a  Canadian." 

"  Ah,"  said  Marvin,  struck  with  a  sudden  thought, 
"that  reminds  me  of  a  question  I  must  ask  you." 

"  A  question  !  "  she  repeated,  looking  at  him  with 
a  faint  smile. 

Marvin  took  out  his  letter-case  and  produced  the 
photograph  of  Miss  Bromfield's  protegee. 

"  Do  you  know  this  face  ?  "  he  asked,  watching 
her  expression  as  he  handed  her  the  little  picture. 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then  met  his  gaze 
without  flinching. 

"  No,"  she  said  simply,  without  constraint  of  look 
or  tone.  Her  attitude  was  merely  one  of  surprise. 
"  Whose  is  it  ?  I  have  never  seen  it  to  my  knowl- 
edge." 


FACES  IN  THE  CROWD.  IA^ 

"  We — that  is  I — fancied  you  might  know ;  of 
course  it  was  only  a  fancy ;  she  is  a  Canadian ;  I 
have  seen  her  somewhere — " 

"  You  have  seen  her  ?     Where  ?  " 

"  The  curious  part  of  it  is  that  I  can't  remember. 
I  think  that  I  have  seen  her ;  and  there  is  a  certain 
likeness  — " 

"  A  likeness  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  you." 

She  blushed  a  little,  and  looked  at  the  photograph 
again  with  evident  amusement.  Then  she  gave  it 
back. 

"  It  is  a  compliment,"  she  said,  "  but  I  do  not  see 
the  resemblance.  I  am  sorry  that  I  can  not  help 
you,  unless  she  is  in  need  of  charity."  And  in  a 
moment  her  purse  was  in  her  hands. 

"  No,"  said  Marvin,  annoyed,  "  it  was  not  that." 

She  blushed  again,  and  put  away  the  purse. 

"  How  lovely  the  river  is  ! "  she  said,  leaning  over 
the  rail,  as  though  she  longed  to  be  within  reach  of 
the  waves.  "  Water  is  my  element.  After  all,  it  is 
well  there  art  no  rapids." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  though  I  love  them,  I  fear  them,  too." 
And  she  drew  back,  laughing  and  shivering  at  the 
same  moment. 

"  You  are  cold,"  said  Marvin.  "We  ought  not  to 
stay  here  longer.  The  sunset  is  glorious,  but  it  is 
time  to  think  of  dining." 

"  I  am  not  hungry." 

"  You  will  dine  with  me  all  the  same,"  said  he. 

10 


,4<5  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

So  they  walked  back  for  some  time  in  silence.  It 
was  Miss  Gerard  who  spoke  first,  as  they  passed 
through  the  garden,  where  the  same  idle  throng  was 
soberly  taking  its  ease. 

"  All  these  people,"  she  said,  "  and  not  a  familiar 
face — not  one,  since  we  left  the  theatre  !  " 

"  Yes,  one." 

"Whose?"  she  asked 

"Jack's,  on  the  club  balcony.  Don't  you 
remember  ?  " 

She  did  remember  perfectly,  but  she  had  not 
counted  Jack,  who  was  but  a  superfluous  cipher  in 
any  calculation  of  hers;  less  than  that  even,  for  with 
the  least  displacement  of  figures  a  cipher  may  count 
immensely. 

They  dined  at  a  great,  showy  restaurant  that  went 
long  ago  the  way  of  all  things  good,  bad,  or  indif- 
ferent, and  is  now  almost  forgotten.  It  fronted  the 
elm-trees  of  the  Common  in  the  ground  floor  of  a 
huge  corner  building,  whose  outward  aspect  is  still 
unchanged,  and  before  whose  doors  still  passes 
nightly  the  same  sad  procession  that  Marvin  and 
Miss  Gerard  looked  out  upon  from  their  table  in  the 
window.  It  was  the  hour  when  work  is  over,  when 
the  chains  are  slackened,  not  removed,  and  those 
who  wear  them  get  their  breath  of  pure  air  and 
their  glimpse  of  such  sunshine  as  may  be  left.  The 
joy  of  release  rarely  shows  itself  in  these  worn  and 
nervous  faces  that  are  all  set  one  way.  "  To  be  rich 
— to  be  rich  !  "  they  are  all  saying  to  themselves. 
This  one  desire  consumes  them — "To  be  rich!" 


FACES  IN  THE  CROWD.  j^ 

It  is  the  fatal  passion  the  envious  fairy  left  in  young 
America's  cradle  as  her  gift  to  the  newly-born. 

Miss  Gerard  still  protested  that  she  was  not  in 
the  least  hungry,  and  though  Marvin  tried  to  tempt 
her  with  elaborate  dishes,  it  was  a  very  simple  dinner 
that  he  ordered  at  her  suggestion.  While  they 
waited  for  it,  she  watched  the  people  hurrying  by 
in  the  twilight  and  he  watched  her.  In  her  manner 
to-day  he  had  found  nothing  repellent.  He  felt 
that  she  liked  him,  and  he  was  more  than  ever 
interested  in  her — of  course,  as  a  study  simply. 
His  afternoon  had  been  very  short;  this  was  a 
pleasant  ending  to  it.  There  was  a  kind  of  sym- 
pathetic melancholy  about  her  that  suited  his  case 
precisely.  She  must  have  a  history  worth  knowing. 
He  wished  he  knew  it.  Just  then  all  the  lights  in 
the  placewere  turned  up, and  the  sudden  glare  drew 
Miss  Gerard's  attention  in-doors. 

"  Is  it  at  all  like  your  club?  "  she  asked,  looking 
up  at  the  plaster  cornice,  of  which  the  prevailing 
tints  were  red  and  yellow,  aggressive  in  their 
tone. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  he.     "  I  like  it  better." 

She  sighed,  softly ;  "  I  don't  believe  you.  You 
men  have  much  the  best  of  it  in  this  life." 

"  Has  your  life  been  so  very  sad  thus  far  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  It  has  been  wretched — miserable — and  is  likely 
to  be  worse.  No  matter,  I  laugh  at  it !  "  And  she 
did  laugh  bitterly  as  she  spoke.  "  After  all,"  she 
added,  "  I  have  been  spared  your  trouble." 


j  .g  K OSES  OF  SHAD 0 W. 

"  Mine  !     And  what  may  that  be  ?  " 

"  I  see  you  think  I  can't  read  signs." 

"  I  see  you  think  I  am  afraid  of  you.  Pray  what 
is  my  trouble?" 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  " 

"  By  all  means." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Miss  Gerard,  lightly,  as  she 
played  with  the  morsel  of  chicken  she  had  accepted, 
"  you  are  in  love — with  a  woman — and  she  has 
rejected  you." 

"  Good  !  "  said  Marvin  ;  "  An  admirable  guess ! 
Try  again." 

"  I  am  glad  you  don't  deny  it." 

"  But  I  do — it  is  not  true." 

Miss  Gerard  dropped  her  knife  and  fork.  "  Say 
that  again,  please,"  said  she. 

"  It  is  not  true." 

"  Would  you  admit  it,  if  it  were  true?  "  she  asked. 

Marvin  burst  into  a  laugh.  "  Probably  not,"  he 
answered;  and  Miss  Gerard  shrugged  her  shoulders 
as  if  to  say  her  case  was  fully  proved. 

"Admitting  for  argument's  sake,"  said  Marvin, 
"that  your  random  shot  hit  the  gold,  you  have  made 
me  forget  my  troubles ;  allow  me  to  do  you  the 
same  good  turn,  if  possible.  Remember,  I  am  a 
social  anchor." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  replied. 

"  I  did  not  like  the  way  you  spoke  just  now,"  he 
explained;  "about  yourself,  I  mean.  Are  you 
really  alone  in  the  world  ?  Have  you  no  family  to 
help  you — to  advise  you  ?" 


FACES  IN  THE  CROWD. 

"  No,"  she  said ;  "  my  mother  died  when  I  was 
very  young.  I  can  but  just  remember  her." 

"  And  your  father  ?     He  is  dead,  too  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  There  is  no  one,  then  ?  " 

"  No  one.  I  had  a  rich  friend — an  American 
woman  much  older  than  I — she  made  a  pet  of  me ; 
she  took  me  abroad ;  it  was  with  her  that  I  came 
to  this  part  of  the  world.  We  are  not  friends  now  ; 
I  do  not  even  know  where  she  is.  So  I  am  left 
alone  with  my  own  way  to  make.  It  is  not  easy." 

"No,"  said  Marvin;  "it  is  hard  enough  for  a 
man  to  fight  the  world.  Will  you  do  me  a  favor  ? 
Count  me  as  your  friend — one  who  will  gladly  help 
you  if  he  can." 

She  had  really  eaten  very  little  and  he  had 
observed  that  she  looked  worn  and  tired.  But  now 
a  flush  of  pleasure  stole  up  into  her  pale  cheeks. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  she  murmured;  "it  may 
be  that  I  shall  come  to  you  with  a  problem.  One 
has  so  many." 

"  Good,"  he  answered  ;  "  it  is  a  bargain  !  I  drink 
to  your  complete  happiness  !  Long  life  and  few 
problems ! "  And  he  filled  his  glass  with  the 
Sauterne  he  had  ordered  for  her  and  drank  the 
toast. 

"  Complete  happiness  !  "  she  responded,  touch- 
ing her  lips  with  her  own  glass  and  setting  it  down 
again. 

As  Marvin  drank,  his  eyes  wandered  a  little,  and 
it  chanced  that  they  fell  upon  a  face  that  passed 


ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

across  the  window-pane.  It  came  and  went  in  an 
instant ;  there  was  no  recognition  in  it — the  eyes 
were  not  even  turned  his  way ;  but  the  sight  gave 
him  a  violent  fit  of  coughing.  The  empty  glass 
had  almost  fallen  from  his  hand. 

"Did  you  see  that?"  he  asked,  as  soon  as  he 
could  speak. 

"  What  ? "  asked  his  companion  who  had  seen 
nothing. 

It  was  the  face  of  Marvin's  photograph  that  had 
startled  him  ;  he  knew  the  girl  at  once ;  and  he 
also  knew  where  he  had  seen  her  before.  It 
was  she  whom  he  and  Jack  Elliston  had  watched 
one  night  from  the  club  balcony,  she  whom 
the  reckless  jockey  had  barely  escaped  killing.  He 
did  not  care  to  tease  Miss  Gerard  about  her  any 
more;  so  he  laughed  the  matter  off  with  a  joke 
about  his  awkwardness ; — said  that  if  his  hand  were 
unsteady  it  came  from  being  cooped  up  in  a  theatre 
— he  never  could  bear  "  the  smell  of  the  tan." 
Then  he  hastened  to  add  that  all  other  experiences 
of  the  afternoon  had  proved  most  exhilarating  ;  as 
for  the  walk,  he  wished  they  might  take  one  oftener. 
Was  Miss  Gerard  never  in  town  ? 

Again  the  changing  color  in  that  astute  person's 
cheeks  betrayed  her  inward  satisfaction.  And  she 
not  only  explained  that  each  week  entitled  her  to  a 
day  of  liberty,  but  she  also  took  pains  to  state  what 
particular  day  of  the  week  it  was.  She  came  to 
town  often,  had  often  an  hour  to  spare;  in  which 
case  she  always  walked  one  way.  He  had  been 


FACES  IN  THE  CROWD.  l$I 

very,  very  kind ;  her  afternoon  had  been  one  that 
she  could  never  forget;  and  finishing  these  remarks 
and  her  cup  of  cafe  noir  at  the  same  moment,  she 
looked  up  at  the  clock  and  said  it  was  time  to  go. 

They  walked  through  a  dozen  dreary  streets  to 
the  drearier  station ;  past  shabby  shops  with  half- 
closed  shutters,  a  musty  hotel  or  two,  the  great 
red  and  blue  eyes  of  an  apothecary's  window. 
Hideousness  unredeemed  attended  them  for  every 
foot  of  the  way,  conspiring  with  the  night  to  give 
Marvin  a  comfortable  sense  of  responsibility.  He 
could  not  remember  when  he  had  last  performed 
such  escort  duty.  It  amused  him;  and  even  though 
the  light  pressure  upon  his  arm  did  not  come  from 
the  hand  he  would  have  liked  to  find  there,  he 
could  have  borne  it  very  well  for  a  few  minutes 
longer.  So  it  was  entirely  natural  that  he  should 
privately  determine  not  to  leave  Miss  Gerard  until 
she  was  safe  at  home.  Knowing  that  she  would 
protest  against  this,  he  said  nothing  about  it.  He 
would  quietly  take  the  train  with  her  at  the  proper 
time ;  then  argument  would  be  useless. 

They  found  the  station  oppressively  warm ;  and, 
rather  than  to  wait  in  the  train,  Miss  Gerard  preferred 
to  walk  up  and  down  the  dusty  platform  till  the  last 
moment.  When  that  came,  Marvin  followed  her  to 
the  steps  of  the  car.  She  turned,  offering  her  hand, 
as  if  to  take  leave  of  him ;  and  before  he  could 
speak,  Jack  Elliston  jumped  down  from  the  car  as 
if  by  magic,  and  stood  between  them. 

"You  here?"  said  Marvin;  "I  did  not  know — " 


!  c  2  K  OSES  OF  SHAD  O  W. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack,  inwardly  noting  and  enjoying 
his  friend's  disappointment. 

"  I  was  on  the  point  of  offering  my  services," 
continued  Marvin,  "  as  escort." 

"  There  is  no  need,"  said  Jack,  "  I  will  take  care 
of  Miss  Gerard." 

"  Oh,  no ;  there  is  no  need,"  she  repeated,  giving 
Marvin  her  hand.  Jack  went  up  the  steps,  and  she 
had  a  moment  to  whisper  in  Marvin's  ear,  "  Re- 
member, Saturday  is  my  day  in  town."  The  car 
began  to  move,  and  Marvin,  following  it  a  little 
way,  saw  Jack  find  her  a  seat,  then  take  a  cigar 
from  his  pocket  and  walk  on  toward  the  front  of 
the  train,  leaving  her  behind  alone. 

"  Deuced  civil,  I  call  that !  "  Marvin  growled,  as 
he  came  out  into  the  street,  that  was  now  doubly 
depressing.  "  He  might  as  well  have  taken  another 
train ! " 

He  could  not,  of  course,  understand  why  Jack 
preferred  to  sit  alone.  He  had  no  suspicion  of  his 
friend's  newly-awakened  jealousy,  and  attributed 
his  slight  abruptness  of  manner  to  the  hurry  of  the 
moment.  None  so  blind  to  suffering  as  those  who 
suffer. 

And  Marvin,  reviewing  the  day's  adventures, 
as  he  took  up  his  lonely  life  again,  allowed  his 
thoughts  to  drift  in  a  new  direction.  Desperate  ills 
required  desperate  remedies,  and  his  troubles,  per- 
haps, were  desperate.  But  he  could  not  become  a 
Trappist,  nor  could  he  stop  at  the  apothecary's  and 
demand  poison  for  rats.  Such  bitter  forms  of  con- 


FACES  IN  THE  CROWD.  je^ 

solation  were  entirely  out  of  date.  Why  not  con- 
sole and  revenge  himself  at  the  same  time  ?  Why 
not  find  another  woman,  marry  her  and  prove  to 
all  whom  it  might  concern  how  utterly  cold- 
blooded and  reckless  he  had  grown  ?  Here  was  a 
girl  now  !  Why  not  ? 

It  needed  but  another  turn  of  the  imagination  to 
figure  himself  already  at  the  altar,  swearing  eternal 
fidelity  to  Miss  Gerard.  She  was  amiable  enough; 
presentable  enough.  He  dared  swear  they  could 
live  together  as  happily  as  most  married  people. 
Why  not  ?  It  was  not  to  be  false  to  one's  ideal  to 
discover  that  there  was  another  woman  in  the  world. 

When  he  reached  his  lodgings  he  sat  down  im- 
mediately and  wrote  a  formal  note  to  Miss  Brom- 
field,  returning  the  photograph,  with  the  statement, 
that  the  fancied  resemblance  was  a  chance  one  and 
nothing  more.  He  did  not  tell  her  that  he  had  been 
startled  again  by  it  an  hour  before.  That  was  a 
coincidence  of  value  only  to  himself. 


IX. 

"QUIS   CUSTODIET    IPSOS    CUSTODES  ?  " 

IN  a  few  hours  after  her  evil  fifteen  minutes  at  the 
theatre,  Miss  Bromfield's  scruples  had  brought 
her  almost  to  the  point  of  breaking  her  engagement 
with  Maitland  Ambrose.  Since  marriage  was  not 
to  give  her  supreme  happiness,  it  seemed  best  to 
her  to  live  a  single  sister  all  her  life,  supremely 
miserable.  With  the  morning  came  a  kind  of  reaction, 
which  Marvin's  indifferent  note  perhaps  helped  in 
some  slight  degree  to  bring  about.  Why  should 
she  mope  in  a  corner  for  a  man  who  from  the  first 
had  done  little  more  than  to  civilly  acknowledge 
her  existence  ?  Why  break  her  word  to  one  who 
was  and  would  be  always  her  devoted  slave  ? 
Without  her,  as  she  liked  to  think,  his  life  would 
be  a  blank.  How  could  she  throw  him  over?  He 
might  do  some  awful,  desperate  thing.  No,  it  was 
too  late  now ;  she  had  chosen  and  must  abide  by 
her  choice.  It  was  always  so,  she  supposed ;  and 
then  she  hummed  to  herself  a  little  song  of  Heine 
that  she  had  once  learned  by  heart.  "  The  other 
loved  another,"  she  said. 

"  The  maid  out  of  spite  was  married 

To  the  first  convenient  man ;  " 
"54 


"QUIS  CUSTODIET  IPSOS  CUSTODES?"      lt? 

She  wondered  if  he  ever  guessed  his  wife's  secret. 
The  song  did  not  go  so  far  as  that. 

All  this,  as  she  sat  alone  at  the  breakfast  table 
over  the  fragments  of  Marvin's  letter.  She  allowed 
herself  few  such  idle  moments.  American  life  is  a 
hurry  and  a  scramble  ;  and  most  of  us,  men  and 
women,  do  our  thinking  as  we  go  along.  Helena 
was  a  general  favorite;  her  engagement  book  had 
no  vacant  pages.  And  beside  the  never  ending 
duties  of  society  there  were  various  charities  to 
which  she  devoted  much  time  and  money.  This, 
her  last  week  in  town,  was  unusually  full.  More- 
over, she  was  now  trying  under  Bruni's  guidance 
to  devise  some  practical  help  for  the  sculptor  Ruel 
and  his  daughter.  She  had  planned  a  conference 
with  the  Italian  for  that  very  morning;  and  Miss 
Feathering,  who  was  subject  to  spasmodic  attacks 
of  the  charitable  fever,  had  volunteered  to  come  to 
town  by  an  early  train  and  help  them  out. 

It  must  be  time  for  her  now,  Helena  thought. 
There  was  sure  to  be  a  list  of  trains  in  the  morning 
paper,  for  which  she  searched  the  room  in  vain ;  then 
she  rang  for  a  servant. 

"  Where  is  the  paper  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Indeed,  Miss,  I  don't  know ;  perhaps  it's  the 
captain's  took  it  out  with  him — he  was  up  and  away 
in  a  great  hurry." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Helena,  looking 
for  the  first  time  at  her  father's  vacant  place.  "  Why, 
he  has  had  no  breakfast !  " 

"  No,  Miss,  not  the  first  mouthful !     He  said  I 


!  5  6  X  OSES  OF  SHADO  W. 

wasn't  to  tell  you — and  I  ain't."  Whereupon,  the 
little  maid,  having  discharged  her  small  petard, 
moved  noiselessly  about  the  performance  of  her 
duties. 

Unwilling  to  betray  uneasiness,  Helena  left  the 
room  and  went  into  the  little  cabin  where  her 
father  usually  shut  himself  up  for  his  morning  cigar. 
There  was  no  tobacco  smoke,  no  other  sign  that 
the  place  had  been  disturbed. 

Wondering  what  strange  current  was  running 
counter  to  all  the  captain's  methodical  habits, 
Helena,  in  vague  alarm,  went  through  the  house 
that  seemed  to  have  grown  unnaturally  still. 
Silence  and  mystery  everywhere ;  the  clue  must 
lie  in  the  missing  morning  paper,  and  she  was  on 
point  of  sending  for  another  copy  of  it,  when  a  car- 
riage rattled  up;  then,  with  a  great  slamming  of 
doors,  Miss  Flossie  Feathering  rushed  into  the 
room,  her  face  glowing  with  excitement. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  she  cried,  kissing  Helena  on  both 
cheeks  violently,  "  how  do  you  do,  and  isn't  it  queer 
and  horrid  ?  " 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Helena,  gravely. 

"  What  ?  You  haven't  seen  ?  Why,  it's  all  in 
the  paper ! " 

"  What  is  in  the  paper?"  Helena  demanded,  now 
thoroughly  out  of  patience. 

"  Mr.  Hutchinson,  the  lawyer.  He  has  gone 
away." 

"  Gone  away ! "  repeated  Helena,  trying  not  to 
understand. 


"QUIS  CUSTODIET  IPSOS  CUSTODES?" 


157 


"  Yes — with  enormous  sums  of  money.  They  say 
his  accounts  are  all  wrong  and  have  been  so  for 
years.  You  know  he  was  everybody's  trustee.  It's 
just  a  chance  that  we  lose  nothing,  as  pa  said  in  the 
train.  Look  !  "  And  Miss  Feathering  produced  a 
crumpled  newspaper,  wherein  the  sudden  disappear- 
ance of  Mr.  Jerome  Hutchinson  was  duly  chroni- 
cled and  his  misdeeds  becomingly  emphasized  with 
a  luxury  of  space  and  a  profusion  of  capital  letters. 

"Just  think  of  the  wicked  old  thing!"  Miss 
Feathering  continued,  lightly.  "Fifty,  if  he's  a 
day !  I  had  such  a  nice  talk  with  him  at  the 
Whateleys'  garden  party.  And  it  has  been  going 
on  for  ages.  So  handsome,  too  !  The  loveliest 
white  hair,  and  pa  says  that  yesterday  he  would 
have  trusted  him  with  millions  !  " 

Helena  tried  to  read,  but  the  letters  danced  before 
her  eyes.  She  knew  that  much  of  her  own  prop- 
erty had  been  left  in  this  man's  care,  and  she  at 
once  understood  her  father's  absence.  He  was  at 
this  moment  trying  to  learn  the  truth,  and  he  had 
carried  away  the  paper  in  order  to  spare  her  the 
pain  of  it  as  long  as  possible.  In  spite  of  her 
trouble,  her  mind  dwelt  upon  this  little  act  of  kind- 
ness, and  her  first  thought  was  of  sympathy  for  him. 

"  It  may  not  be  so  bad,  after  all,"  was  the  only 
thing  that  seemed  possible  for  her  to  say. 

"  It's  sure  to  be  worse  when  everything  is  known," 
replied  Miss  Feathering.  "  I  only  hope  they  will 
catch  him,  that's  all!  Where  do  you  suppose  he 
is  ?  "  Then  she  noticed  Helena's  preoccupied  look, 


j  5  g  R  OSES  OF  SHAD  O IV. 

and  an  alarming  contingency  occurred  to  her  for  the 
first  time.  "I  do  hope  you  have  nothing  in  his 
hands." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Helena,  controlling  herself  and 
putting  aside  the  paper.  The  true  state  of  her  affairs 
would  of  course  be  common  gossip  in  a  day  or  two, 
but  she  preferred  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
announcement.  So  the  subject  was  changed,  and 
they  talked  of  indifferent  things  until  Bruni  burst 
in  upon  them  with  his  thin  face  wreathed  in  smiles. 
Whereupon  he  was  called  to  account  for  his  un- 
wonted gayety. 

"  Heaven  helps  the  light-hearted,"  he  said, 
becoming  suddenly  grave  again,  "  and  it  is  easier  to 
be  cheerful  than  not.  But  I  have  sold  a  bit  of  our 
poor  sculptor's  work.  Oh,  it  won't  bring  him  a 
fortune — only  a  little  bread  and  butter.  That's 
something.  I  believe  Ruel  would  die  of  starvation 
rather  than  ask  a  favor.  He's  as  proud  as  an  exiled 
emperor." 

This  was  excellent  news,  for  the  sale,  beside  pro- 
viding the  ready  money  upon  which  their  courageous 
friend  depended,  would  inevitably  act  as  a  spur  to 
incite  him  to  redoubled  effort.  There  ensued  much 
discussion  and  much  writing  down  of  names  among 
the  three  conspirators.  Such  and  such  people  must 
be  made  to  take  an  interest  in  him.  An  exhibition 
of  his  work  must  be  arranged  ;  the  apathetic  public 
must  be  stirred  into  recognition  of  his  genius.  His 
daughter,  too,  must  be  rescued  from  the  milliner's 
shop,  where  she  was  now  forced  to  lead  the  life  of 


"QUZS  CUSTODIET  IPSOS  CUSTODES?"       j^g 

a  galley-slave;  for  her  some  gentler  employment 
must  be  found.  The  morning  was  gone  before 
their  schemes  had  assumed  definite  shape,  and  the 
discussion  was  prolonged  over  the  luncheon-table, 
where  Miss  Bromfield,  though  a  shade  more  silent 
than  usual,  was  still  a  perfect  hostess.  No  shadow 
of  impending  misfortune  was  permitted  to  cast 
itself  between  her  and  her  social  duties.  Her  father 
was  still  absent,  and  therefore  she  secretly  rejoiced. 
His  presence  might  have  made  all  this  repose 
impossible.  Luncheon  being  over,  and  Bruni  hav- 
ing taken  himself  off,  she  had  a  momentary  longing 
to  confide  her  fears  to  Miss  Feathering.  But  her 
friend  was  just  then  taking  the  utmost  delight  in 
her  own  talk,  which  seemed  more  frivolous  than 
ever,  and  Helena  reflected  that  her  sympathy  could 
only  be  oppressive.  So  she  wisely  said  nothing ; 
and  before  long  Miss  Feathering  likewise  took  her 
leave.  Then  Helena  caught  up  the  newspaper,  fled 
to  her  chamber  and  locked  herself  in  to  read  and 
re-read  the  evil  tidings.  A  flood  of  tears  naturally 
followed,  and  naturally  proved  an  immense  relief  to 
her.  She  had  wanted  a  good  cry  all  day,  and  now 
that  it  was  over,  she  could  look  at  the  matter  more 
calmly.  She  dressed  for  dinner  as  usual,  and  when 
the  time  came,  she  was  able  to  meet  her  father  with 
dry  eyes  and  in  some  degree  of  composure.  The 
moment  his  step  was  heard,  s-he  gave  one  last  look 
at  the  glass  and  then  went  down  and  faced  the  cap- 
tain in  the  drawing-room.  He  was  pacing  back 
and  forth  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  but  as  she 


X  OSES  OF  SHAD  O  W. 

came  in  he  stopped  in  his  walk  and  looked  at  her 
gravely.  She  did  not  give  him  time  to  speak. 

"  I  know,"  she  said,  simply,  showing  the  tell-tale 
newspaper  in  her  hand. 

The  captain  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  and  resumed 
his  walk  without  speaking. 

"  Is  there  any  news  of  him  ?  "  Helena  asked. 

"  No,"  replied  her  father,  quickening  his  pace  as 
he  spoke  ;  "  we  shall  never  hear  of  him.  He  has 
a  three  days'  start — for  Patagonia,  I  suppose." 

"  It  is  all  true,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  his  accounts  are  in  disorder — nothing 
can  be  made  of  them.  There  is  no  money  ;  much 
of  it  was  lost,  they  say,  in  speculation  months  ago. 
At  all  events,  he  has  made  off  with  eveiything,  ex- 
cept a  trifle  of  yours  that  chanced  to  be  in  my 
hands.  You  see  how  much  I  am  to  blame." 

"To  blame?  You?" 

The  captain  stood  still  and  looked  at  her  with  a 
strange,  anxious  expression.  Then  he  laid  his 
hand  gently  upon  her  shoulder. 

"  My  child,  your  money  was  left  in  his  care  and 
mine  jointly.  If  you  lose  a  fortune,  it  is  through  my 
neglect;  of  course,  I  am  to  blame." 

For  answer,  Helena  flung  her  arm  around  his 
neck. 

"  Papa,  papa,  you  shall  not  say  such  things.  .  He 
was  a  man  whom  every  body  trusted  as  you  trusted 
him.  As  for  the  money,  it  is  nothing.  If  you  ever 
speak  so  again  I  can't  forgive  you." 

"  You  are  very  brave,  darling." 


"  Q  UIS  CUS  TO  DIE  T  IPS  OS  CUS  TODES  ?"       r  6 1 

"  That  is  nonsense.  Surely,  we  have  something 
left?" 

"  Oh  yes  ;  there  is  my  money — we  shall  not  be 
absolute  paupers,  but — " 

"  You  are  not  to  say  another  unkind  word  ; — you 
are  not  to  think  unkind  thoughts  ;  you  are  not  to 
make  me  unhappy — I  forbid  you  !  " 

Then  the  captain  bent  down  and  kissed  her. 
"Where  is  Maitland?"  he  asked. 
"  I  have  not  seen   him  all   day,"  replied  Helena, 
recalled  at  once  to  life  and  its  responsibilities;  for 
she  had  been  since  the  morning  in  a  kind  of  wak- 
ing dream.     She  observed  with  some  surprise  an 
unusual   friendliness    in  the  form    of  her  father's 
question  ;   he  had  never  before  failed  to  speak  of 
her  lover  as  Mr.  Ambrose. 

"  I  have  seen  him,"  said  the  captain :  "  he  will 
be  here  presently.  He  promised  to  dine  with  us 
to-day." 

"  You  have  seen  him,"  said  Helena.  "  Then  of 
course  he  understands — " 

"Of  course;  I  told  him  in  so  many  words.  He 
behaved  admirably." 

Thereupon  Helena  was  seized  with  a  desire  to 
know  exactly  what  had  taken  place  between  them. 
She  insisted  that  every  syllable  of  the  conversation 
should  be  repeated  to  her.  The  captain  made 
heroic  efforts  to  recall  it,  but  in  vain.  He  had 
found  enough  to  confuse  him,  that  day,  poor  man ! 
Then,  in  spite  of  his  troubles,  he  became  amused 
at  her  persistency  and  actually  laughed  at  it. 
ii 


!  62  R  OSES  OF  SHAD  O  W. 

And  Helena,  only  too  glad  to  change  the  cur- 
rent of  his  thoughts,  laughed  with  him.  And  so 
Ambrose  found  them  when  he  came  into  the  draw- 
ing-room. 

"  Poor  Ellie ! "  he  cried.  "  Is  this  the  way  you 
lose  a  fortune?" 

Helena  drew  herself  up  proudly.  "  I  am  not  to 
be  pitied,  sir.  I  mean  to  bear  it  as  well  as  either  of 
you  ;  "  and  she  laid  one  hand  upon  her  father's  arm, 
and  gave  the  other  to  Ambrose.  So  they  stood 
for  a  moment  silently,  looking  at  each  other  with 
sober  faces. 

"  Is  there  any  news  ?  "  the  captain  asked.  Am- 
brose shook  his  head. 

"She  is  very  brave,"  continued  the  captain. 
"She  does  not  realize  it." 

"  I  realize  it  so  well,"  said  Helena,  "  that  I  will 
not  hear  another  word  upon  the  subject.  If  I  must 
go  into  hysterics,  let  us  keep  them  for  to-morrow — 
Hush !  "  she  added,  as  the  maid  announced  dinner. 
"  Remember  the  servants  !  " 

In  the  dining-room  she  did  at  first  a  great  deal  of 
talking  in  order  to  raise  her  father's  spirits.  Ambrose 
saw  her  motive  and  helped  her  out,  making  a  very 
good  second.  Under  this  treatment  the  patient 
revived;  he  lost  his  look  of  fatigue  and  pronounced 
the  dinner  excellent;  in  short,  he  seemed  quite  himself 
again.  Helena  led  the  two  men  into  a  political  dis- 
cussion, and  then  watched  them  quietly,  ready  with 
a  leading  question  in  case  of  a  fatal  pause.  "  So  he 
behaved  admirably  !  "  she  said  to  herself,  repeating 


"QUIS  CUSTODIET  IPSOS  CUSTODES?"       jg, 

the  captain's  words  as  she  looked  at  Ambrose.  He 
was  certainly  doing  his  best  now  to  win  her  whole 
heart.  And  when  he  turned  her  way  her  eyes 
assured  him  that  she  was  grateful. 

After  dinner,  in  the  little  cabin,  she  pointed  with 
her  fan  to  the  backgammon-board  and  Ambrose 
challenged  the  captain  to  a  rubber.  They  talked 
and  laughed  and  wrangled.  Helena  brought  some 
work  and  sat  down  between  their  table  and  the  open 
window  through  which  there  came  a  low  murmur 
of  the  city.  There,  the  great  mystery  of  the  night 
with  all  its  shining  worlds  beyond  it.  Here,  her 
own  little  world — her  home.  Perhaps  it  was  not  to 
be  her  home  any  longer ;  they  would  be  poor,  they 
must  retrench.  The  thought  made  her  heart  ache, 
while  the  men  moved  their  checkers  and  rattled 
their  dice,  really  believing  all  the  while  that  she 
"  did  not  realize  it."  She  hoped  they  would  continue 
to  think  so. 

They  played  three  games  of  backgammon  and  then 
a  fourth  and  a  fifth  before  Ambrose  took  his  leave. 
Helena  followed  him  out  into  the  hall,  as  usual. 

"  You  have  been  very  good  to  papa,"  she  whispered. 

"  Well,  he  seems  rather  cut  up.  It  is  hard  luck — 
hard  all  round." 

"After  all,  it  is  only  money — nothing  to  what  we 
might  have  lost." 

"  What,  for  instance  ?  "  Ambrose  asked,  v/ith  a 
laugh  that  had  a  note  of  sarcasm  in  it. 

Helena's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  turned  her 
back  upon  the  light  so  that  he  should  not  see. 


!  64  R  OSES  OF  SHAD  O  W. 

"  Does  it  make  so  much  difference  to  you  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  To  me  ?  No,  of  course  not  I  was  thinking  of 
you." 

"  You  may  be  sure  that  I  shall  not  complain.  It 
is  only  giving  up  curry  and  caviare.  A  little 
economy,  with  papa  and  you  to  help  me  !  " 

"  Good  !  "  said  Ambrose.  "  I  admire  your  pluck. 
I  don't  half  deserve  to  have  you.  Good-night ! " 
Then  they  had  a  last  word  or  two  at  the  open  door, 
and  he  went  out  smiling. 

But  the  smile  did  not  wear  very  well ;  in  fact  it 
was  quite  worn  out  before  he  had  carried  it  a  dozen 
yards.  Then  he  drew  a  long  breath  and  scowled 
and  muttered  something  that  was  meant  for  no  ears 
but  his  own.  As  he  turned  the  street  corner,  a  little 
fluffy  terrier  that  had  lost  his  master  came  toward 
him  sniffing  and  hoping  against  hope  to  find  a 
friend. 

"  Curse  you  !  "  said  Ambrose,  fiercely  ;  and  he 
kicked  the  dog  into  the  gutter.  The  poor  brute 
howled  with  pain.  His  latest  enemy  strode  away, 
but  a  huge  policeman  looming  up  out  of  a  distant 
shadow  crossed  the  quiet  street  and  spoke  to  the 
dog  kindly.  The  frightened  animal  gave  him  one 
look  and  then  shot  off  into  the  darkness. 

"  Miserable  hound  ! "  said  the  man,  roughly ;  but 
it  was  not  the  dog  he  meant. 


X. 

"  LES   AFFAIRES   AVANT   TOUT  !  " 

the  scandal-monger's  point  of  view  it  need 
J_  hardly  be  said  that  Mr.  Jerome  Hutchinson's 
little  escapade  proved  triumphantly  successful.  At 
first,  the  wildest  rumors  were  eagerly  caught  up  and 
believed.  In  a  small  way,  many  people  were 
"  interested  "  as  commercial  courtesy  euphemistically 
puts  it ;  and  these  petty  losers,  being  loudest  and 
fiercest  in  their  denunciations  of  the  missing 
trustee,  lent  a  certain  air  of  probability  to  the 
fabulous  sum  total  at  which  his  ill-gotten  wealth 
was  set  down.  But  the  greatest  sufferers  wisely 
held  their  peace ;  and  to  this  day  no  one  really 
knows  upon  what  cash  capital  the  false  steward 
established  himself  anew  at  his  villa  in  Para.  For 
to  that  sunny  South  American  port  he  was  supposed 
to  have  sailed ;  perhaps,  because  no  hotter  place  is 
known  to  be  habitable  in  any  but  a  supernatural 
world. 

Let  us  leave  him  simmering  there  forever,  and 
return  to  his  victims.  At  first  it  was  said  that  the 
Bromfields  were  left  without  so  much  as  a  dollar 
to  their  names ;  but  this  was  soon  contradicted  by 
the  knowing  ones,  who  hinted  that  the  captain  was 

165 


j  55  K  OSES  OF  SHADO  W. 

a  shrewd  old  boy  and  had  a  very  pretty  property 
of  his  own  to  fall  back  upon.  Then  it  was  proved 
by  the  best  authority  that  they  had  given  up  their 
country  home  and  were  to  pass  the  summer  in  town  ; 
over  which  the  club  men  shook  their  heads  sym- 
pathetically. Finally,  it  was  whispered  about  that 
their  town  house  was  actually  in  the  market.  There 
had  been  no  bill  in  the  window,  but  so-and-so  knew 
that  it  could  be  bought  for  such  a  price.  And  then 
the  club  men  shook  their  heads  still  more  solemnly 
and  said  it  was  a  bad  lookout  for  Ambrose.  Mean- 
while Miss  Bromfield  and  her  lover  seemed  to 
behave  very  much  as  if  nothing  extraordinary  had 
happened.  The  captain,  too,  deprecated  sympathy 
by  every  look  and  gesture,  skilfully  declining  to  be 
led  by  any  leading  questions  and  keeping  up  his 
spirits,  as  everybody  said,  amazingly  well. 

Marvin  sat  about  the  club,  saying  little  as  was 
his  habit,  but  listening  attentively  to  all  these 
rumors.  Before  many  days  he  became  convinced 
that  the  loss  to  his  friends,  if  not  so  great  as  was  at 
first  imagined,  must  at  least  be  serious.  Then  he 
absented  himself  for  a  day  or  two  from  the  club 
house,  but  turned  up  down  town,  as  some  of  the 
busy  men  remarked,  rather  oftener  than  usual. 
During  this  time  as  it  happened,  he  did  not  meet 
the  Bromfields.  He  knew  that  he  ought  to  go  to 
the  house,  he  felt  that  the  captain  would  expect  it ; 
he  meant  to  call,  in  fact,  but  kept  postponing  the 
visit;  and  when  a  fortnight  had  slipped  away  it 
was  still  unpaid. 


"LES  AFFAIRES  AVANT  TOUT!"  ^7 

One  day  the  captain  came  home  very  late  for 
luncheon, — so  late  that  Helena  had  given  him  up, 
and  he  found  her  alone  at  the  table. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  penitently ;  "  but  a  very 
strange  thing  has  happened — " 

"If  it's  a  disagreeable  thing,  let  it  wait,"  said 
Helena,  with  a  gayety  that  seemed  a  little  unreal  like 
that  of  the  stage. 

"  I  said  strange,  my  dear,  not  disagreeable.  I 
have  had  an  offer  for  this  house,  that's  all." 

"  Oh !  "  replied  Helena,  soberly.  "  Is  that 
strange  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  it  comes  in  a  curious  way.  More  is 
offered  me  than  I  could  possibly  ask,  and  I  am  not 
to  know  the  buyer's  name." 

"How  can  that  be,  papa?  " 

"A  lawyer  called  upon  me  at  the  club — said  he 
was  acting  as  attorney  for  some  person  or  persons 
to  remain  unknown.  Moreover,  he  made  a  condi- 
tion— to  wit,  namely,  viz : — that  we  are  to  stay  here 
for  the  present  at  a  nominal  rent,  with  the  privilege 
of  buying  back  the  house  when  the  lease  expires." 

"  What  a  very  kind  thing !  Oh,  papa,  what  did 
you  say?  " 

"  I  asked  him  if  his  client — or  clients — was— or 
were  insane." 

"  How  brutal  of  you ! "  said  Helena,  laughing. 
"  Well  ?  " 

"Well,  a  discussion  followed  on  the  yea  and 
nay  principle.  I  declined  and  he  insisted. 
Finally,  I  gave  him  a  flat  refusal ;  but  he  would  not 


,68  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

take  his  '  No '  so  abruptly  and  left  me  with  three 
days  leeway  to  consider  it." 

"Ought  we  to  refuse?  "  Helena  asked.  To  her 
the  plan  seemed  very  enticing  and  she  could  see  no 
harm  in  it. 

"  To  accept  a  gift  of  money  from  the  Lord  knows 
whom  ?  Most  assuredly.  I  think  so." 

"  It  is  not  the  same  thing,"  Helena  argued. 

"  Isn't  it  ?  To  me  it  seems  precisely  that.  How- 
ever, I  have  brought  home  the  three  days  and  am 
willing  to  leave  them  with  you.  Think  the  matter 
over  and  give  me  my  answer.  But  don't  consult 
anybody— don't  tell  Ambrose." 

"  Do  you  think  it  was  he  then — " 

"  No,  he  has  not  the  wherewithal,"  returned  the 
captain,  bluntly.  "  But  he  may  have  suggested  the 
thing  to  some  one  else — or,  at  least,  he  may  be  in 
the  secret.  In  that  case  he  could  hardly  give  an 
unprejudiced  opinion." 

"  I  see,"  said  Helena,  thoughtfully;  and  then  they 
talked  of  other  things. 

The  next  day  it  was  that  Marvin,  overcoming  his 
natural  indolence,  forced  himself  to  ring  at  the 
Bromfields'  door.  He  asked  first  for  Miss  Helena. 
The  maid  was  not  sure  that  he  could  be  received; 
nevertheless,  she  showed  him  into  the  drawing- 
room.  He  waited  a  long  time,  pounding  the  floor 
with  his  stick,  and  staring  out  of  the  window. 
Then  he  heard  a  light  step  behind  him,  and  turned 
about  to  face  a  slight,  hesitating  figure,  that  was  not 
Miss  Bromfield's.  He  saw,  instead,  a  woman  whom 


"LES  AFFAIRES  AVANT  TOUT!"  jgg 

he  had  never  met,  but  whose  face  he  immediately 
recognized. 

"  I  am  Miss  Ruel,"  said  the  intruder,  softly. 
Marvin  bowed,  and  in  a  moment  had  compared 
her  mentally  with  Miss  Gerard.  Younger,  shorter, 
prettier,  not  so  very  like  her,  but  carrying  herself 
much  in  the  same  way. 

"  Miss  Bromfield  asked  me  to  say,"  the  girl  con- 
tinued, timidly, "  that  she  is  very  sorry  not  to  see  you." 

"  I  am  sorry,  too,"  said  Marvin.  "  And  Captain 
Bromfield  ?  Is  he  at  home  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  replied.  "  You  will  find  him  in  the 
smoking-room." 

Marvin  thanked  her,  and  took  up  his  hat  and 
stick  again.  But  he  waited  a  moment,  for  the  girl 
stood  still,  as  if  there  were  something  more  to  be  said. 

"  You  came  to  Belmont,  didn't  you  ?  "  she  asked. 
And  the  question  stirred  Marvin's  thoughts  with  a 
twinge  of  pain  like  that  of  a  bodily  wound  that  has 
healed. 

"  Yes,"  said  he.     "You  are  the  patient!  " 

"  I  was,"  she  answered,  with  a  smile,  that  was  the 
smile  of  Miss  Gerard,  "  until  Miss  Bromfield  cured 
me.  I  remember  seeing  you  with  her  that  day.  I 
watched  you  from  the  window  when  you  were  not 
looking." 

"  Just  my  case,"  said  Marvin.  "  I  have  seen  you 
in  the  same  way — twice." 

"  Where  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  look  of  great  sur- 
prise. 

"  In  the  street,"  he  returned,  amused  at  her  be- 


ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

wilderment  "  I  thought  we  should  meet  some 
day.  You  are  staying  here  ?  " 

"  Only  for  to-day.  I  am  to  have  a  place  in  one 
of  the  libraries.  Miss  Bromfield  found  it  for  me. 
She  has  been  so  very  kind." 

"  She  could  not  be  otherwise,"  said  he.  "  Tell 
her — "  and  he  would  have  sent  a  kindly  message, 
but  that  the  captain,  just  then,  threw  open  the 
cabin-door  with  a  shout  of  welcome.  Miss  Ruel 
disappeared ;  and  Marvin  went  into  the  cabin,  where 
the  two  men  sat  for  a  long  time,  talking  earnestly, 
with  closed  doors.  What  took  place  there  between 
them  can  never  be  accurately  known.  We  are 
none  the  worse  off,  however,  for  their  talk  was  of 
business,  and  the  details  of  business  are  proverbially 
dull.  From  the  way  in  which  they  parted  in  the 
hall,  an  hour  or  two  afterward,  it  was  clear  that  the 
discussion  had  been  a  friendly  one. 

The  captain  dined  alone  that  night,  for  Ambrose 
did  not  come  in,  and  Helena  kept  her  own  room. 
When  she  appeared  the  next  morning,  her  father 
thought  she  looked  pale,  and  said  so. 

"  No  sleep,  I  suppose.  I  see — you  had  a  white 
night,  as  the  Frenchmen  say.  Wherefore  '  white,' 
I  wonder?" 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  a  woman's  readiness  for 
small  deception.  She  had  really  counted  all  the 
hours.  But  the  captain  was  not  so  easily  deceived. 

"  It  will  not  do,"  he  replied.  "  You  have  been 
lying  awake  to  reflect  upon  your  answer." 

"  Must  it  be  to-day  ?  "  she  asked. 


"LES  AFFAIRES  A  VANT  TOUT!  "  l  j  l 

"  Yes,  to-day.     And  what  have  you  decided?" 

"  Nothing.     I  cannot  decide." 

The  captain  laughed.  "  So  I  must  do  all  the 
work.  Very  well ;  let  me  speak  for  you.  We  are 
to  accept  the  offer  of  our  unknown  friend.  I  have 
changed  my  mind.  I  think  it  will  be  best." 

"  Oh,  papa !  "  cried  Helena,  overjoyed. 

"  Yes,"  he  returned,  "  that  is  my  conclusion. 
Some  day,  perhaps,  he  will  discover  himself,  and 
allow  us  to  repay  him.  Until  then,  let  us  put  our 
pride  to  sleep." 

"  I  am  not  sure, — "  began  Helena,  inclining  to 
doubt  if  this  were  proper,  after  all. 

"  But  I  am,"  replied  her  father;  "and  that  settles 
the  question." 

"  Then  I  may  tell  Maitland,"  she  said,  "  since  it  is 
all  settled." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  captain,  after  a  moment's 
thought;  "he  might  hear  of  it  The  news  had 
better  come  from  you." 

She  told  Ambrose  the  story  the  next  time  they 
met.  He  betrayed  no  delicate  scruples  like  those 
her  father  had  at  first  expressed  so  clearly.  In 
fact,  he  was  inclined  to  treat  the  matter  rather 
lightly.  And  at  this  she  was  annoyed  and  grieved. 
It  would  have  pleased  her  better  to  find  him  over 
scrupulous.  Then  it  suddenly  occurred  to  her  that 
his  indifference  might  be  assumed.  She  was  only 
too  ready  for  such  an  explanation,  and  grasped 
eagerly  at  the  thought,  following  it  up  as  though 
she  had  found  a  clue. 


ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

"  I  believe,"  she  said,  "  that  you  knew  of  this." 

"  If  you  think  so,"  he  replied,  "  it  will  do  no  good 
to  swear  the  contrary." 

"  You  did  know  of  it !  "  she  cried. 

He  only  answered  her  then  with  a  tormenting 
laugh.  But,  afterward,  pushed  into  a  corner,  as  it 
were,  he  was  forced  to  say  something  for  the  sake 
of  peace ;  and  he  said  "  No !  "  But  there  are  fifty 
ways  in  which  this  word  may  be  spoken,  each  with 
its  own  peculiar  shade  of  expression.  His  way  did 
not  quite  clear  up  the  matter.  If  he  was  willing  to 
remain,  when  all  was  said  and  done,  an  object  of 
suspicion,  he  had  perhaps  taken  the  very  best  means 
to  that  end. 

The  days  went  on,  and  the  hot  weather  came, 
bringing  with  it  social  desolation.  The  brood  of 
fashion  took  its  flight  to  the  mountains  and  the  sea- 
side, or  nestled  in  the  shadows  of  neighboring 
country  houses.  One  half  the  city  shut  its  eyes  and 
took  a  long  siesta  while  the  sun  kept  a  fierce  watch 
over  it.  Little  tufts  of  grass  forced  their  way  up  be- 
tween the  bricks  of  the  pavement,  and  the  trees  in  the 
squares  and  gardens  grew  yellow  before  their  time, 
and  began  to  shed  their  leaves.  But  the  Bromfields 
stayed  on  in  town  ;  and  Helena,  who  had  feared  that 
this  new  experience  would  prove  unbearable,  soon 
declared  that  she  enjoyed  it,  and  wished  that  the 
quiet  summer  might  be  prolonged.  What  if  the 
familiar  streets  were  grass-grown  and  deserted  ? 
Their  very  solitude  had  its  charm  ;  she  was  free  as 
the  air,  and  could  walk  in  them  or  not,  as  she 


"LES  AFFAIRES  A  VANT  TOUT!"  j^ 

pleased.  At  almost  any  time  she  might  have 
escaped,  for  her  invitations  were  many  and  urgent ; 
but  she  would  not  leave  her  father,  and  declined 
them  all.  Now  and  then  some  friend  would  appear 
in  town,  for  an  hour  or  two,  upon  one  pretext  or 
another,  and  it  became  the  fashion  to  lunch  with  her. 
The  house  at  mid-day  was  a  place  of  rendezvous. 
Ambrose  would  come  in  to  help  her  entertain  the 
chance  visitors ;  there  would  be  laughter  and 
gossip  ;  a  little  music  sometimes ;  then  the  butter- 
flies would  spread  their  wings  and  flutter  away  in 
the  sunshine ;  and  the  sleepy,  afternoon  life  would 
go  on  again. 

Lightest  and  shallowest  of  these  summer  morning 
guests,  Miss  Flossie  Feathering  was  often  to  be 
found  among  them.  For  her  friendship,  Helena, 
in  her  heart  of  hearts,  did  not  care  two  straws. 
Miss  Feathering,  on  the  contrary,  adored  Helena, 
or  said  so;  and  Helena,  amused,  perhaps  a  little 
flattered,  for  she  was  three  years  the  younger, 
allowed  herself  to  be  adored.  Moreover,  Miss 
Feathering,  though  flighty  and  uncertain,  was  always 
amiable,  and  never  dull ;  with  her  in  the  room,  all 
was  sure  to  go  smoothly  ;  she  had  the  small  talk  of 
society  at  her  tongue's  end,  and  when  Ambrose 
met  her,  these  two  were  always  chaffing  each  other 
across  the  table  to  the  great  diversion  of  the  com- 
pany. Then,  too,  Miss  Feathering  had  now  defi- 
nitely taken  up  charity,  as  she  said,  and  having 
plenty  of  money,  was  only  too  eager  to  be  generous. 
Nothing  daunted  her  ;  and  she  was  always  ready  to 


K  OSES  OF  SHADO  W. 

push  her  way  through  swarming  streets  and  up 
unlighted  stairways  where  Miss  Biomfield  would 
never  have  ventured  alone.  Helena,  since  her 
reverses  of  fortune,  had  busied  herself  more  than 
ever  with  the  poor,  and  in  certain  ^dingy  quarters  of 
the  city  she  was  almost  worshipped.  When  she 
came  the  children  smiled,  clinging  to  her  dress  by 
way  of  welcome,  and  staring  wistfully  after  her 
when  she  went  away.  Summer  homes  and  excur- 
sions were  then  little  known,  and  Helena  had  helped 
many  of  these  small  wretches  to  a  holiday  in  the 
open  air.  To  them  she  seemed  an  angel,  and  Miss 
Feathering  was  a  mere  attendant  spirit. 

The  mind  had  wrestled  with  the  heart,  and  gained 
the  mastery.  She  never  permitted  herself  now  to 
think  of  Marvin,  who,  having  paid  her  his  visit  of 
duty,  did  not  come  again.  She  was  all  gratitude 
to  Ambrose  for  his  manly  way  of  facing  their  mis- 
fortune, for  it  was  his  as  well  as  hers.  She  was 
proud  of  him,  too ;  proud  of  his  good  looks  and 
his  good  manners ;  of  his  success  in  the  law,  for 
she  knew  that  he  was  successful.  She  had  been  in 
his  office.  It  had  seemed  to  her  a  very  untidy 
place ;  even  the  floor  was  ankle  deep,  as  she  said, 
with  books  and  papers.  But  all  that  meant  success, 
and  he  was  busier  than  ever ;  so  busy  that  some- 
times for  days  she  had  no  more  than  a  glimpse  of 
him.  And  thereby  crept  in  a  thought  of  bitterness. 
She  could  not  help  fearing  that  he  cared  more  for 
making  money  than  for  anything  else  in  the  world  ; 
more  even  than  for  her.  But,  of  course,  they  needed 


"LES  AFFAIRES  A  VANT  TOUT! 


175 


money.  They  were  to  be  married  in  the  autumn  ; 
that  had  been  settled ;  all  but  the  day  was  fixed. 
She  must  make  her  sacrifices  with  the  rest.  She 
must  help  him  and  not  hinder  him.  It  would  never 
do  to  be  jealous  of  a  man's  profession. 

She  found  more  time  to  herself  now  than  she  had 
ever  known  before ;  but  time  never  could  stand  still 
with  her.  She  had  her  music  and  her  books ;  of 
the  latter  she  knew  very  much  more  than  the  out- 
side. But  she  was  skilful  in  avoiding  a  display  of 
knowledge,  and  people  interested  her  so  much  that 
she  pleased  all  sorts  of  people.  Her  little  protegee, 
Miss  Ruel,  for  instance,  showed  a  regard  for  her 
that  was  almost  pathetic.  The  girl  was  now  an 
assistant  in  the  library  where  Helena  sometimes 
went  to  have  a  word  with  her.  It  was  a  cool, 
shadowy  place  of  refuge  from  the  glaring  street ; 
so  that  Miss  Bromfield  was  often  tempted  to  linger 
there.  She  would  retreat  with  a  book  into  a  certain 
quiet  alcove  that  overlooked  one  of  the  old  city  grave- 
yards,— a  place  of  sunken  head-stones  and  worn- 
out  epitaphs,  with  now  and  then  a  marble  tomb  of 
an  old-fashioned  design — -for  there  is  a  fashion  even 
in  such  things.  The  place  was  almost  disused ; 
even  the  dead  passed  it  by,  and  it  was  given  over  to 
grass  and  flowers.  Just  under  the  alcove  window, 
in  an  angle  of  the  wall,  was  a  great  bed  of  holly- 
hocks, erect  and  stately  like  a  group  of  pompous 
courtiers.  These  flowers,  with  their  trim  stalks 
and  splendid  colors,  delighted  Helena  ;  and  at  times 
in  looking  at  them  she  would  forget  her  book,  and 


j  -5  K  OSES  OF  SHAD  O  W. 

let  her  hands  fall  upon  its  open  pages.  So  she 
wasted  many  minutes,  or  seemed  to  waste  them. 
And  the  girl  she  had  befriended  would  notice  this, 
and  wonder  what  sorrow  weighed  upon  her.  For 
quite  unconsciously  Helena  always  looked  at  the 
flowers  with  a  sad  expression. 

One  afternoon  she  heard  voices  out  there  under 
the  trees.  Marvin  and  Miss  Gerard  were  loitering 
about  among  the  graves  and  had  stopped  to  read 
an  old  inscription.  The  color  came  into  Helena's 
cheeks  and  went  away  again.  The  sight  had 
annoyed  her,  but  only  for  one  instant ;  she  smiled 
to  think  she  had  been  annoyed  at  all.  "  Let  him 
walk  with  her  all  day,  if  he  likes  her,"  she  said  to 
herself,  with  a  toss  of  the  head.  But  it  would 
never  do  to  be  seen  there.  He  might  think  she 
was  watching  them.  So  she  dropped  her  book  and 
left  the  window. 

"  Do  what  we  will,"  Miss  Gerard  was  saying, 
"  Death's  hand  is  upon  us  all !  I  can  never  realize 
it." 

"  Why  should  you,"  Marvin  asked,  "  if  you  still 
believe  that  Death  ends  everything  ?  This  would 
not  be  so  bad  a  place  to  sleep  in  forever." 

"  I  know  the  place  that  I  would  choose,"  she 
returned ;  "  it  is  in  the  Basque  country  near  Biarritz 
— a  patch  of  long  grass  under  a  castle  wall  where  a 
few  English  soldiers  fell  in  battle  and  were  buried. 
The  sea  breaks  upon  the  rocks  close  under  it.  If 
we  must  wake,  as  you  think,  I  would  like  to  wake 
there  in  the  sound  of  the  waves." 


"LES  AFFAIRES  AVANT  TOUT!"  ^7 

"  We  are  growing  desperately  gloomy,"  said 
Marvin.  "Let  us  change  the  subject.  Where 
is  Jack  ?  I  haven't  seen  him  for  a  dog's  age." 

"  Oh,  didn't  I  tell  you  ?  He  is  in  the  West — tele- 
graphed for  by  his  uncle,  who  has  been  seriously  ill 
and  is  now  better,  but  still  too  weak  to  travel.  It  will 
be  some  time  before  they  can  think  of  coming  home." 

"  His  uncle  ?     You  mean  Mr.  Musgrave." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Gerard,  turning  away  her  face 
lest  some  guilty  change  should  be  noted  in  it.  Mr. 
Musgrave's  illness  had  given  her  a  respite  that  was 
not  altogether  unwelcome.  She  was  even  beginning 
to  dread  the  day  of  his  return. 

"  Mr.  Musgrave,"  continued  Marvin,  "  is  too 
ornate  a  person  for  the  prairies.  What  on  earth 
took  him  there  ?  " 

"  Business,"  she  replied.  "  He  has  given  it  up, 
but  one  never  conquers  a  ruling  passion.  '  Les 
affaires  avant  tout,'  you  know !  Please  to  remember 
that  you  are  one  of  the  few  Americans  who  do  not 
make  business  the  absorbing  thing  in  life." 

"And  even  I,"  said  Marvin,  "have  become  a  true 
American.  I  am  going  to  take  to  the  law  and  work 
like  a  coal-heaver." 

"  Are  you  serious  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  look  of 
amazement. 

"  Yes — entirely  serious,"  he  replied. 

"  You,  of  all  men !     And  why  ?  " 

"  Because  the  life  I  lead  is  a  poor  and  selfish 
thing — unprofitable,  even  to  myself.  I  have  no 
hope  of  a  brilliant  future,  no  distinct  ambitions. 


ROSES  OF  SHADOW, 

But  I  am  here  in  the  world  and  must  make  my 
mark  in  the  world,  however  slight  the  mark  may  be." 

Miss  Gerard  sighed.  "  Yes,"  she  said  ;  "  I  begin 
to  understand." 

"  Then,  too,  I  need  money.  I  am  not  exactly 
poor — nor  am  I  likely  to  become  rich.  But  money 
gives  one  an  immense  advantage,  and  I  have  but 
just  learned  its  real  value.  I  am  willing  to  wrestle 
with  my  fellow-men  for  a  little  more  of  it.  If  I 
make  a  fortune,  so  much  the  better  for  me,  so  long 
as  I  neither  hoard  it  nor  spend  it  unwisely." 

"  It  will  be  in  good  hands  !  "  said  Miss  Gerard, 
and  her  eyes  shone  now  not  in  wonder  but  in 
admiration.  "  You  are  doing  the  right  thing,  I  am 
sure,  and  I  wish  you  all  possible  success." 

"  Amen !  "  he  answered. 

They  had  walked  entirely  round  the  small  enclo- 
sure and  were  at  the  gate  again. 

"  It  is  time  to  think  of  my  train,"  said  Miss 
Gerard.  "  No  !  Do  not  come  with  me  !  Good- 
night. Success  to  you — and  another  wish  !  " 

"  What  one  ?  "  he  asked,  taking  the  hand  she 
offered  him. 

"  You  enter  upon  this  new  life  single-handed  ;  it 
is  a  pity  that  there  will  be  no  one  to  share  its  trials 
— its  successes.  My  wish  is  that,  if  such  a  one 
exists,  you  may  find  her." 

"  Amen  to  that,  too  !  "  said  Marvin  ;  "but  I  can't 
say  that  I  think  her  lot  would  be  enviable." 

"  You  are  trying  to  force  a  compliment,"  she 
replied  ;  "  but  you  shall  get  none  from  me." 


"LES  AFFAIRES  AVANT  TOUT!" 


179 


That  was  her  last  word.  He  laughed  and  went 
his  way — she,  hers.  But  as  she  walked  alone,  "  I 
think  that  he  will  ask  me !  "  was  her  thought.  And 
at  almost  the  same  moment  he  was  saying  to  him- 
self: "  Why  not  ask  her?  " 


XI. 


MACHIAVELLI  AND  HIS  WIFE. 

1 '  7[/fADONNA  MIA"  said  Bruni  to  his  wife  one 
morning,  as  he  looked  up  from  his  coffee 
and  crushed  an  open  letter  in  his  hand,  "  Madonna 
mia,  are  the  Featherings  very  rich  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ?  "  she  replied,  rousing  her- 
self from  a  reverie  of  her  own  at  the  other  end  of 
the  table. 

" '  But  for  a  satisfaction  of  my  thought ;  no  further 
harm.'  Shakespeare,  my  dear ;  '  Othello/  act  the 
third ! " 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  always  fling  the  poets  at 
me ;  I  detest  it,"  said  his  wife,  impatiently.  The 
fact  was  that  he  knew  more  of  them  than  she  did 
and  the  circumstance  annoyed  her. 

Bruni  laughed.  "  Excellent  lady,"  he  said. 
"  Poetry  to  you — owls  to  Athens !  But  you  pro- 
voked me  to  it.  1  do  not  find  you  cinquecento  at 
all  this  morning.  On  the  contrary,  you  are  new, 
very  new,  oh,  enormously  American  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? "  she  asked, 
sharply. 

"  To  answer  one  question  with  another  is  not  nice ; 
and  whatever  is  nice  I  call  cinquecento"  he  replied. 
1 80 


MACHIAVELLI  AND  HIS  WIFE.  jgj 

The  "excellent  lady"  laughed  in  spite  of  her- 
self. "  I  did  not  mean  to  do  it,"  she  explained.  "  I 
am  perfectly  willing  to  answer  your  question.  The 
Featherings  are  rich.  Mrs.  Feathering  was  a  Robin- 
son and  had  a  fortune  from  her  mother  who  was  a 
niece  of  old  Martin,  the  grocer.  And  they  are  all  in 
some  way  connected  with  the  Whateleys,  I  believe." 

"  That  explains  it,"  said  Bruni,  reflectively, 
smoothing  out  his  crumpled  letter.  Perhaps  he 
hoped  that  his  wife  would  repeat  her  question,  but 
she  wisely  held  her  tongue.  So  in  a  moment  he 
went  on  :  "  You  see,  they  wanted  me  to  paint  Miss 
Flossie's  portrait.  She  doesn't  interest  me,  but  I 
preferred  not  to  refuse ;  so,  instead,  I  put  an  out- 
rageous price  upon  my  work.  Her  father  writes 
me  a  letter  and  sends  me  his  cheque  for  all  I  asked, 
before  the  canvas  is  stretched  or  the  picture  even 
thought  of." 

"  I  suppose  that  is  not  cinqiiecento"  said  Mrs. 
Bruni,  viciously. 

"  Decidedly  modern.  However  dollars  are  dol- 
lars, even  in  this  degenerate  day.  I  shall  make  the 
best  of  it. .  The  girl  has  no  coloring,  but  she  was 
very  good  in  that  affair  of  the  sculptor  Ruel.  So 
we  will  admit  her  within  our  four  walls — home,  as 
you  call  them." 

"  He  meant  well,  I  am  sure,"  Mrs.  Bruni  re- 
plied, "  and  it  is  certainly  a  great  compliment  that 
he  pays  you." 

"  Compliment  ?  Bah  !  "  growled  Bruni ;  and  he 
rose  abruptly  and  walked  away  to  the  window. 


!32  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

His  wife  kept  her  place  at  the  breakfast  table, 
which  was  singularly  typical  of  this  ill-assorted 
household.  Before  her  was  set  the  substantial  fare 
indispensable  to  every  morning  meal  of  the  luxur- 
ious and  dyspeptic  American ;  while  at  Bruni's 
place  there  stood  only  the  frugal  coffee-cup  of  Italy. 
He  had  never  learned  to  begin  his  day  fiercely 
with  an  appetite.  She,  at  first,  had  tried  to  con- 
form to  all  his  little  ways,  this  early  coffee  habit 
among  the  rest;  but  in  vain.  So  that  now,  making 
dinner  their  one  meal  in  common,  they  had  grown 
to  be  rather  like  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jack  Sprat  in  the 
fable. 

"  I  can't  understand  you  at  all,"  she  said,  going 
on  with  her  breakfast  leisurely.  Bruni  merely 
shrugged  his  shoulders  without  looking  at  her  ;  she 
was  in  the  habit  of  telling  him  this  a  dozen  times 
a  week. 

"  You  are  always  incomprehensible,"  she  con- 
tinued, turning  her  threadbare  statement  tenderly. 
"  I  say  it  is  a  compliment  and  a  great  one  !  " 

"  Because  she  is  a  millionaire's  daughter !  Bah  ! 
That  for  her ! "  he  said,  snapping  his  fingers.  "  I 
would  rather  paint  Miss  Bromfield  ten  times  over — 
and  she  is  to  be  poor,  they  say." 

"  Miss  Bromfield  is  a  sweet  girl,"  replied  his  wife. 
"  I  don't  like  that  man  she  is  going  to  marry." 

Bruni  looked  at  her  sharply.  "  What  has  turned 
you  against  him  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  never  fancied  the  fellow,"  she  answered, 
vaguely.  "  And  then  he  refused  to  subscribe  to 


MACHIAVELLI  AND  HIS  WIFE.  jg^, 

my  '  Higher  Light  for  Women '  fund ;  but  I  had 
my  revenge !  "  she  added,  in  a  tone  of  triumph. 

"  Revenge  ?     How  ?  " 

"  I  sent  a  collector  to  his  office  for  six  days  in 
succession — a  new  man  each  time.  I  made  his 
life  wretched,  and  he  paid  me  a  dollar  at  last !  " 

Bruni  chuckled  with  delight  and  came  back  to 
the  table  jingling  some  coins  together  in  his  pocket. 
Then  he  threw  down  a  gold  piece  into  an  empty 
plate  where  it  tinkled  merrily. 

"  Put  that  into  the  fund,"  said  he,  "  from  a  lesser 
light !  " 

His  wife  betrayed  no  emotion,  but  drew  out  her 
purse  and  put  away  the  coin  with  business-like 
rapidity. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said.  "  I  will  send  you  a 
receipt." 

Bruni  stared  at  her  for  a  moment  and  then  burst 
into  a  roar  of  laughter.  "  You  are  delicious  !  "  he 
cried,  and  thereupon  stalked  out  of  the  room 
without  another  word ;  while  his  wife  finished  her 
breakfast  with  a  sigh,  and  wondered  why  she  could 
never  understand  him. 

So  Bruni  stretched  a  canvas  and  Miss  Feather- 
ing began  to  give  him  occasional  restless  sittings. 
After  each  visit  the  usual  strong  distaste  for  his  work 
would  overcome  the  artist,  and  his  pent-up  dis- 
pleasure would  find  relief  after  the  Italian  fashion  in 
exaggerated  speech.  "  Dollars !  "  he  would  say. 
"  That  is  all  she  says  to  me — dollars  !  That  is  all 
I  can  see,  all  I  can  express  !  and  when  it  is  done  I 


1 84 


I? OSES  OF  SHADOW. 


shall  paint  the  dollar  sign  in  the  upper  corner  like 
a  coat-of-arms ! " 

Meanwhile,  he  worked  a  little  now  and  then  upon 
Miss  Bromfield's  picture,  which  still  oppressed  him 
with  a  sense  of  incompleteness.  He  would  have 
been  glad  to  paint  it  out  altogether  and  let  his 
wasted  time  and  color  go  for  nothing.  In  fact,  he 
had  prayed  devoutly  that  the  loss  of  Miss  Brom- 
field's money  might  lead  to  that  very  thing.  She 
had  given  him  no  sittings  for  some  time.  But 
lately,  a  note  from  the  captain  had  left  him  no 
choice  in  the  matter ;  the  sittings  must  be  resumed 
and  the  picture  finished  at  whatever  cost  to  his 
reputation  as  a  skilful  conveyer  of  likenesses.  He 
passed  many  unhappy  quarters  of  an  hour  studying 
the  composition  and  picking  flaws  in  it.  His 
critical  spirit,  once  roused,  was  merciless — above  all, 
to  himself. 

One  afternoon  his  wife  came  into  the  studio  and 
found  him  in  one  of  these  gloomy  moods,  standing  be- 
fore the  Bromfield  portrait  and  looking  askance  at  it 
with  muttered  imprecations.  His  face  cleared  at  once, 
however ;  he  was  only  too  glad  to  be  interrupted. 

"  Are  you  going  out  ?  "  he  asked,  for  she  was  in 
street  dress. 

"  No,  I  have  just  come  in.  I  lunched  to-day  with 
the  Bromfields.  Helena  is  looking  thin  and  pale, 
I  think.  That  is  very  like  her." 

"  Don't  look  at  it !  "  he  said,  taking  the  picture 
down  from  his  easel  and  turning  its  face  to  the  wall. 
"  It  is  detestable ! " 


MACHIAVELLI  AND  HIS  WIFE.  jgr 

"  That  man  was  there  !  "  his  wife  went  on. 

"  Ambrose  ?    Well,  why  shouldn't  he  be  there  ?" 

"  Because  I  hate  him.  He  flirted  to-day  outrage- 
ously with  that  Feathering  girl.  Helena  seemed 
not  to  notice  it,  but  I  think  she  really  did  and  that 
it  troubled  her.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  the 
brute  neglects  her  purposely." 

"  Cospetto!"  cried  Bruni.  "  Here's  a  drawing  of 
conclusions  !  What's  the  matter  ?  Has  he  refused 
another  subscription  ?  " 

"  Nonsense.  You  know  I  am  entirely  unpreju- 
diced. But  women  see  things  that  men  never  notice, 
and  I  saw  that  to-day — I  know  it." 

"  I  thought  all  women  were  match-makers." 

"  Not  American  women.  They  have  higher  aims, 
I  hope.  The  future  of  our  women — " 

She  would  have  gone  on  breathlessly  for  half  an 
hour,  but  he  cut  in  adroitly. 

"  American  women  are  all  angels  ;  and  I  say  they 
are  match-makers,  for  it  is  Heaven's  work.  But 
what  they  do,  they  can  undo.  Match-maker — 
match-breaker!  Break  this  one  for  me  and  I 
will  be  more  a  slave  to  you  than  ever — if  that  is 
possible." 

"  Why,  Cesare,  what  are  you  saying  ?  "  she  cried, 
in  dismay. 

"  She  must  not  marry  him.  It  will  give  me  the 
heart-ache  !  "  And  he  pressed  his  hand  to  his  heart 
as  if  he  already  felt  a  physical  pain  there.  "  Think 
of  some  way  to  prevent  it !  "  he  continued. 

"  I  ?  To  meddle — interfere — with  what  does  not 


! 86  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

concern  me  ?   No  indeed ! "    And  she  moved  toward 
the  door  as  if  to  fly  from  a  thought  so  criminal. 

But  Bruni  intercepted  her  upon  the  threshold, 
planting  himself  there  firmly  between  her  and 
escape. 

"  Would  you  wish  that  sweet  little  child  to  be 
eternally  unhappy  ?  "  he  asked  in  English  that  was 
very  like  Italian. 

"  No ;  but  we  may  be  all  wrong.  And  to  part  a 
pair  of  lovers !  Why,  it  would  be  improper — im- 
moral !  Besides,  it  could  not  be  done !  " 

"  We  are  not  wrong.  If  you  do  nothing  worse, 
you  are  sure  of  Heaven.  There  is  a  way — what 
way  I  don't  know,  but  there  must  be  one — not  by 
direct  interference,  of  course  not.  She  must  be 
made  to  see  him  as  we  see  him — as  he  really  is." 

"  It  is  no  affair  of  ours." 

Bruni  strode  back  into  the  room  impatiently. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  argue  with  a  woman ! "  said  he. 

"Really,  Cesare,  I  can  not  see  that  this  is  my  duty." 

"  How  deal  with  the  beam  if  you  overlook  the 
mote  ?  You  want  to  help  all  women  and  you  will 
not  save  one !  " 

Mrs.  Bruni  colored  and  bit  her  lip.  "  That  is  not 
true !  "  she  said.  "  If  I  were  sure — " 

"  Why  so  you  were  just  now !  " 

"  How  disagreeable  you  are  and  all  for  nothing. 
Miss  Bromfield  is  quite  able  to  take  care  of  herself 
without  your  help  or  mine." 

"  Ah,  indeed  ?     We  shall  see." 

"  If  I  can  see  the  way  to  anything  consistent  with 


MACHIAVELLI  AND  HIS  WIFE.  jg7 

my  duty — "  She  paused  reflectively,  without  finish- 
ing the  sentence.  "  What  time  is  it,  Cesare  ?  " 

"Half  past  four." 

"  What !  And  I  have  a  new  circular  to  write 
about  the  Emancipation  Garment !  Do  you  dine 
at  home  to-night?  " 

"  No ;  at  the  club." 

"  Then  I  shall  take  tea  with  the  Charity  Class—- 
and— about  the  other  matter — if  my  duty — " 

"  Good  !  Your  duty,  come  what  may.  For  me,  I 
shall  do  mine." 

And  so  they  parted. 

Bruni  worked  on  until  the  twilight  came,  "  I  am 
a  fool,"  he  thought ;  "  what  is  it,  after  all,  to  her,  or 
to  me."  But  it  weighed  upon  his  mind,  neverthe- 
less. He  woke  in  the  night  and  was  thinking  of  it 
still.  "  I  shall  explore  a  little  in  undiscovered 
countries — it  will  do  no  harm,"  said  he. 

The  next  time  Miss  Feathering  posed  for  her 
portrait  she  found  him  in  a  very  talkative  mood. 
He  rattled  on  about  books  and  pictures  and  ideas 
in  a  way  that  was  quite  disheartening  to  her ;  she 
would  have  preferred  to  listen  to  herself  a  little. 
Then  he  began  to  talk  of  people,  and  at  last  abruptly 
but  not  unnaturally  he  introduced  the  name  of 
Ambrose. 

He  was  holding  up  his  brush,  at  the  moment,  to 
measure  her  face  with  the  handle  of  it,  his  head 
being  comically  cocked  upon  one  side  like  a  bird's. 
One  of  his  eyes  was  closed ;  and  with  the  other, 
sharp  as  it  was,  he  could  only  detect  the  faintest 


ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

possible  flush  overspreading  the  face  he  had  called 
colorless.  The  next  minute  the  color  was  gone  and 
they  were  discussing  the  approaching  marriage. 

"  Miss  Bromfield  is  lovely ;  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 
said  Miss  Feathering.  "  She  looks  better  in  black 
than  in  anything  else.  I  wish  she  would  wear  it 
always."  Then  she  saw  her  chance  and  discoursed 
upon  the  art  of  dress  for  the  next  half  hour,  during 
which  Bruni  became  absorbed  in  his  work  and 
agreed  with  her  in  everything.  He  had  devised  for 
the  portrait  a  gold  background  of  innumerable 
dollar-signs  like  arabesques  in  tapestry,  interwoven 
artfully, — so  artfully,  indeed,  that  the  scheme  of  the 
design  might  easily  escape  detection.  This  idea 
pleased  him  immensely  and  he  chuckled  over  it; 
while  for  the  rest  of  the  sitting,  Miss  Feathering  was 
permitted  to  do  all  the  talking. 

A  few  nights  afterward  he  found  Ambrose  dining 
alone  at  the  club,  and  joined  him  with  a  suggestion 
of  champagne,  which  they  accordingly  ordered. 
But  it  was  a  wine  that  Bruni  disliked;  so  that  he 
drank  little  more  than  his  first  glass,  while  Ambrose 
finished  the  bottle.  They  had  brandy  with  their 
coffee ;  and  more  brandy  later  on,  in  Bruni's  studio, 
wrhere  they  went  to  smoke  their  cigars.  They 
wheeled  chairs  into  the  wide  recessed  window,  and 
sat  there  in  the  dark,  looking  out  at  the  river,  with 
the  great,  black,  empty  room  behind  them.  The 
night  was  cool  and  still,  and,  though  the  window 
was  open,  the  city  was  out  of  hearing  and  even  out 
of  sight  Time,  place  and  atmosphere  were  very 


MACHIAVELLI  AND  HIS  WIFE.  jgg 

soothing  to  the  spirit.  Ambrose  found  it  all 
delightful,  and  said  so.  He  always  talked  easily, 
and  in  this  unguarded  hour  he  exhausted  every 
subject  that  came  up,  with  a  reckless  fluency.  From 
clubs  and  club  life  he  dashed  into  politics,  to  state 
his  views  at  great  length  upon  the  important  ques- 
tions of  the  day.  Bruni  listened  till  he  could  bear 
it  no  longer,  and  then  took  the  conversation  into 
his  own  hands. 

"  How  is  the  law  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  law  ?  Only  so  so ;  no  money  in  it,  I  am 
afraid.  I  begin  to  think  a  man  ought  to  die  if  he 
can't  control  plenty  of  money.  There's  Hunter, 
now — he's  done  it  Just  his  infernal  luck." 

"Miss  Jewsbury,  you  mean;  I  hear  they  are 
engaged.  That  means  another  portrait  for  me,  I 
hope." 

"  Lucky  devil !  "  said  Ambrose.  "  You  get  them 
all,  sooner  or  later,  don't  you  ?  I  wish  I  were  a 
painter.  By  the  way,  how  is  that  portrait  of  Miss 
Bromfield  ?  " 

"  Getting  on." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"  Here — but  you  can't  see  it.  Don't  alarm  your- 
self. It  shall  be  done  before  your  wedding-day." 

"  Yes,  be  sure  of  that,"  said  Ambrose.  Then  a 
light  wind  springing  up  from  the  water  blew  a  puff 
of  smoke  into  his  face,  and  he  coughed  a  little. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  in  which  the  two 
men  effaced  themselves  behind  the  glowing  tips  of 
their  cigars.  Then  Bruni  jumped  up. 


190 


KOSES  OF  SHADOW. 


"  That  reminds  me,"  he  said, "  that  I  have  another 
picture  almost  finished.  Oh,  a  capolavoro !  I 
must  show  it  to  you.  Wait  a  bit."  And  he  groped 
his  way  into  a  corner  to  light  up  the  room. 

"  Is  it  a  portrait  ?  "  inquired  Ambrose  out  of  the 
darkness. 

"  Yes.     The  portrait  of  a  lady.     See  !  " 

A  blinding  glare  followed.  The  gas  jets  were 
high  overhead,  and  as  Bruni  turned  them  down  a 
little  it  seemed  to  Ambrose  that  all  the  light  had 
come  from  the  splendid  white  and  gold  likeness  of 
Miss  Feathering. 

"  The  devil !  "  he  cried.     "  That  is  amazing !  " 

Bruni  laughed.  "  I  told  you  it  was  a  capo- 
lavoro" said  he. 

Ambrose  came  out  into  the  room  and  gave  a 
long  low  whistle.  "  What  a  background !  "  he  con- 
tinued. 

"  Yes,"  said  Bruni.  "  I  like  the  background  my- 
self. I  think  it  suits  her.  But  the  likeness — " 

"  Perfect !  Don't  change  a  line ;  it  is  a  most 
interesting  picture." 

"  She  is  a  type,"  said  Bruni;  "  I  wanted  to  do  her 
justice." 

"  By  Heaven,  you  have  done  it !  And  you  didn't 
spare  paint  nor  canvas,  did  you  ?  " 

"  No.  That  was  the  way  to  do  it.  Besides — " 
and  here  Bruni,  with  certain  reservations,  told  the 
story  of  his  order  for  the  picture  and  the  cheque 
he  had  received. 

Ambrose  expressed  his  admiration  with  spark- 


MACHIAVELLI  AND  HIS  WIFE.  IQI 

ling  eyes.  "  The  old  man  is  an  immense  fellow," 
said  he;  "  only  a  month  or  two  ago  he  settled  a 
fortune  upon  her." 

"  Ah,  indeed  ?  Then  there's  a  chance  for  some- 
body," Bruni  replied.  "  I  wonder  she  doesn't 
marry." 

"  Oh,  she  won't  marry,"  said  Ambrose,  carelessly. 
"She  has  been  out  three  seasons,  you  know;  and 
she  has  had  a  disappointment,  I  believe.  We 
lawyers,  you  understand,  are  like  doctors;  we  hear 
these  things  indirectly." 

"  Ah,  is  that  possible  ?  "  said  Bruni,  in  a  tone  of 
the  greatest  interest. 

"Certainly.     Why  not?" 

"  Because  I  had  almost  fancied — no  matter — " 

"  Go  on.     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  is  hardly  fair  to  speak  of  it — but  I 
almost  fancied  that  she  was — how  do  you  say  it — 
attracted,  caught,  I  mean.  I  have  seen  Dr.  Dudley 
making  her  his  devotions — and  the  other  day,  when 
I  mentioned  his  name —  The  painters,  you  know, 
like  the  lawyers  and  the  doctors,  have  their  oppor- 
tunities." 

Ambrose  never  dreamed  how  closely  he  was 
watched  while  Bruni  made  these  reflections  with 
the  utmost  deliberation;  but  had  he  been  on  trial 
for  his  life  he  could  hardly  have  held  himself  in 
better  shape ;  he  never  turned  a  hair,  and  his  face 
was  like  a  painted  mask,  devoid  of  all  expression. 

"  Dr.  Dudley,"  he  said;  "  it  may  be — it  may  be. 
I  never  thought  of  him.  And  the  other — Miss 


!Q2  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

Bromfield's  portrait,  I  mean,  of  course — show  me 
that  too." 

"  No,"  said  Bruni,  "  not  to-night."  And  he  was 
off  like  a  flash  to  put  out  the  lights.  "  Sit  down 
here  and  smoke  again." 

"  It  is  too  late — I  must  be  off." 

"  At  least  another  glass,"  urged  his  host,  finding 
the  brandy  in  spite  of  the  sudden  darkness. 

"  Just  one — and  then  I'll  go." 

They  shook  hands  at  the  door,  and  Bruni  stood 
there  a  moment  looking  after  him.  As  the  foot- 
steps died  away,  the  Italian  blew  a  great  puff  of 
smoke  into  his  open  palm,  as  if  to  disinfect  it  from 
the  grasp  of  Ambrose.  "  Canaglia !  Oh,  but  I 
could  wring  your  neck  for  you !  "  he  muttered. 
Then  he  went  in-doors,  and  found  his  wife  sitting 
alone  with  inky  fingers  over  a  great  pile  of  freshly- 
printed  circulars. 

"  Madonna  /"  he  cried.     "  It  must  be  done  !  " 

"  What  must  be  done  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  blank 
look. 

"Bah!  Why,  anything.  Polenda  for  to-mor- 
row's dinner — what  you  will ! " 

"  I  shall  never  understand  you,"  she  murmured, 
absently,  and  went  on  folding  circulars. 


XII. 

LETTERS    OF   GREAT    MOMENT. 

THE  long,  stifling  summer  waned  at  last,  and 
after  one  fierce  effort  it  suddenly  went  out 
like  a  sputtering  flame.  The  nights  grew  longer 
and  cooler,  the  afternoon  breeze  came  up  oftener 
and  was  less  grateful,  the  streets  were  filled  with 
flying  leaves.  One  by  one  the  houses  reopened 
their  barricaded  doors  to  the  painter  and  his  myr- 
midons. The  city  lost  its  look  of  languor ;  every 
soul  one  met  in  it  seemed  alert  and  cheerful.  In 
town,  at  latitude  42°,  the  first  day  of  autumn  is  like 
the  signal  of  hope  to  a  beleaguered  fortress,  and  with 
it  the  drooping  spirit  stirs  and  revives. 

Marvin's  first  act  after  taking  upon  himself  new 
duties  had  been  to  face  about  and  neglect  them. 
He  had  opened  his  office  merely  to  turn  the  key 
upon  it.  The  heat  had  become  intolerable ;  and, 
to  escape  it,  he  went  off  alone  for  a  fortnight's  tour 
of  the  mountains.  He  had  often  taken  such  soli- 
tary journeys.  He  liked  to  make  his  own  reflec- 
tions and  to  travel  leisurely  in  his  own  way.  But 
this  time  he  was  bored;  the  heat  pursued  him 
everywhere;  the  people  he  met  were  dull  beyond 
expression.  He  returned  to  town  in  the  early  days 
13  193 


K  OSES  OF  SHAD  O  W. 

of  September  and  almost  the  first  man  he  saw  at  the 
club  was  Jack  Elliston,  with  whom  he  undertook  to 
have  a  long  chat.  He  learned  the  particulars  of 
Mr.  Musgrave's  illness,  and  was  also  informed  that 
the  great  man  might  return  any  day;  that  Jack 
meanwhile  was  installed  in  his  uncle's  house  to 
remain  there  for  some  time — at  least,  until  Mr. 
Musgrave  came  entirely  round  again.  After  this, 
the  conversation  flagged  a  little.  Jack  seemed  cold 
or  abstracted,  he  could  not  quite  determine  what 
was  the  matter.  But,  presently,  much  to  Marvin's 
surprise,  his  friend  walked  off  and  left  him  sitting 
there  alone.  Precisely  the  same  thing  happened 
the  next  time  they  met.  Then  Marvin  drew  back 
and  made  no  more  advances.  It  was  not  in  his 
nature  to  get  up  a  scene,  and  he  did  not  choose  to 
ask  for  an  explanation.  If  Jack  had  taken  offence 
where  none  was  intended,  Jack  must  set  it  right; 
time,  no  doubt,  would  bring  him  to  his  senses. 

So  Marvin  opened  his  office  door  again,  this  time 
in  earnest,  and  for  the  moment  gave  himself  wholly 
to  the  law.  Under  this  pressure  of  affairs  he  saw 
nothing  of  Miss  Gerard  and  was  even  without  news 
of  her.  Then,  too,  he  carefully  avoided  further 
complication  with  the  Bromfields ;  so  carefully,  in 
fact,  as  to  cross  the  street  when  he  passed  their 
windows.  One  day,  however,  he  met  Helena  on 
her  way  to  Bruni's  studio.  She  made  a  movement 
as  if  to  detain  him,  but  he  would  not  notice  it.  For 
what  had  they  to  stand  chattering  in  the  street 
about  ?  There  was  more  than  one  excellent 


LETTERS  OF  GREAT  MOMENT,  jge 

reason  for  the  discouragement  of  any  such  pro- 
ceeding. 

That  morning  Bruni  found  Miss  Bromfield  by 
no  means  at  her  best.  She  looked  pale  and  tired, 
almost  ill;  and  her  thoughts  were  evidently  a 
thousand  miles  away.  He  tried  very  hard  to 
entertain  her,  but  she  answered  him  in  monosyl- 
lables, with  hardly  a  smile  for  all  his  pains.  He 
complained  of  this  afterward  to  his  wife. 

"  Well,"  she  said  ;  "  I  told  you  so  !  Poor  child  ! 
She  has  engaged  herself  to  that  man — of  course  she 
is  unhappy ! " 

"  And  you  will  not  interfere,"  said  Bruni. 

"  If  I  could,  it  would  not  mend  the  matter.  Can't 
you  see  that  she  is  too  conscientious  ever  to  break 
with  him  ?  " 

"  I  begin  to  think  you  are  right,"  he  sighed. 

A  day  or  two  after  this,  it  happened  that  Bruni 
took  his  mid-day  meal,  which  he  called  breakfast, 
at  the  St.  George,  the  great,  gilded  restaurant  where 
Miss  Gerard  and  Marvin  had  once  dined  together. 
After  one  or  two  light  dishes  the  Italian  ordered 
macaroni  served  in  a  peculiar  form  that  could  not 
be  prepared  in  a  moment ;  but  time  so  wasted  was 
no  loss  to  Bruni.  The  waiter,  who  was  an  old 
friend,  took  a  professional  interest  in  the  foreign 
gentleman  whose  tastes  in  cookery  were  always 
imaginative,  and  he  set  down  the  macaroni  ten- 
derly and  lifted  the  cover  with  an  air  of  triumph. 

"  It's  done  just  perfect,  sir,"  said  he. 

But   Bruni  pushed   his   plate   away  impatiently 


I  96  R  OSES  OF  SHAD  O  W. 

and  called  for  his  account.  Something  had  thrown 
him  into  a  state  of  strange  excitement,  for  he 
bustled  off  in  a  moment  leaving  behind  him  a  fee 
that  was  enormous  from  the  foreign  point  of  view; 
while  the  waiter  stared,  shook  his  head  at  the  un- 
tasted  dish,  and  then  accepted  his  earnings  with  a  sigh. 

Through  the  crowded  streets  Bruni  hurried 
toward  home,  his  lips  moving  all  the  while  in 
angry  communion  with  himself.  As  he  drew  near 
his  own  door,  he  saw  his  wife  walking  in  the  same 
direction  just  in  front  of  him.  He  hesitated  for  a 
moment ;  then  he  went  on  and  joined  her  with  all 
his  usual  calmness  of  manner. 

"  Ah,  Cesare,"  said  Mrs.  Bruni,  "  I  have  been 
lunching  with  Helena  again  to-day."  And  she 
sighed. 

"  Alone  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes ;  I  was  so  thankful !  That  fellow  was 
to  be  there,  but  he  sent  a  note  at  the  last  minute,  to 
say  he  should  be  detained  in  court." 

"  What  ?  "  cried  Bruni ;  "  say  that  again  !  " 

"  Certainly — '  detained  in  court.'  " 

"  Did  he  say  so  ?  " 

"  Yes.     What  then  ?  " 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  he  persisted. 

"  Why,  of  course  I  am  !  Helena  handed  me  the 
note." 

"Santo  Nome/1'  shouted  Bruni,  overcome  with 
rage  and  joy  together.  They  had  reached  their 
own  door-steps,  up  which  he  now  rushed  like  a 
whirlwind,  almost  dragging  his  wife  after  him  over 


LETTERS  OF  GREAT  ^MOMENT.  jgy 

the  threshold,  through  the  hall  and  into  their  little 
drawing-room. 

"  Sit  down  and  write,"  said  he. 

"  But—" 

"  Don't  stop  to  talk,"  he  went  on,  in  a  pleading 
tone ;  "  do  as  I  say — trust  all  to  me — there  is  not 
an  instant  to  be  lost.  Write !  " 

His  wife  took  up  the  pen  without  a  word. 

"  '  Come  at  once  to  the  St.  George  restaurant/  " 
dictated  Bruni,  "  '  where  I  am  waiting  for  you.  It 
is  a  matter  of  immense  importance — come  imme- 
diately ! '  Underscore  that  last  word,  and  sign," 
he  continued. 

She  obeyed,  then  folded  the  note  and  addressed 
it  to  Miss  Bromfield  at  his  command. 

"  Now  give  it  to  me,"  he  said ;  "  and  go  there, 
yourself,  at  once." 

"  Go  where  ?  "  she  asked. 

"To'/"  he  cried,  angrily ;  "why,  of  course,  to 
the  St.  George  !  Wait  there  till  she  comes.  There 
is  a  small  room  on  the  left — from  it  you  can  watch 
the  door." 

"But  what  am  I  to  do  or  say  ?  " 

"  Invent  some  excuse,  if  she  asks  you — no  mat- 
ter what — anything.  Don't  delay !  Go !  You 
will  know  the  reason  soon  enough." 

"And  you?" 

"  I  shall  see  that  this  note  is  put  at  once  into 
Miss  Bromfield's  hands.  I  do  my  part — you  will  do 
yours — promise !  " 

"  It  is  the  strangest  thing — "  she  protested. 


198 


KOSES  OF  SHADOW. 


"  Promise !  "  he  repeated,  throwing  open  the  hall- 
door.  "  Only  promise ! " 

"  Yes ;  I  will  go,"  she  said ;  and  so  they  hurried 
away  in  opposite  directions. 

Miss  Bromfield,  as  it  chanced,  vras  dressed  for  a 
walk  that  she  had  planned  to  take  with  Ambrose. 
There  had  been  some  talk  of  a  charitable  expedi- 
tion which  they  were  to  make  together  and  which 
had  been  more  than  once  postponed.  She  had  de- 
cided that  it  would  be  best  to  carry  out  the  plan  to- 
day alone.  On  her  way  down  stairs,  she  waited  a 
moment  on  the  landing  for  there  were  voices  at  the 
door  below.  Then  the  maid  came  up  and  handed 
her  a  letter. 

"  It  is  very  important,"  said  the  girl. 

"  What  can  it  mean  ? "  thought  Helena  as  she 
read  the  blotted  lines  of  Bruni's  dictation.  "  She 
was  here  just  now — but  it  is  certainly  her  hand." 
Then  she  trembled  at  the  only  possible  conclusion. 
"  Some  accident !  I  am  losing  time  !  "  And 
throwing  down  the  letter  she  hurried  into  the  street. 
There  almost  at  the  first  step  she  found  herself 
growing  faint  with  alarm  at  the  unknown  danger 
that  seemed  to  threaten  her.  "  A  carriage,"  she 
thought;  "it  may  be  needed."  She  turned  back, 
passed  the  house  again  and  went  to  the  nearest 
livery-stable,  where  she  was  known.  Her  look  was 
quite  enough ;  every  man  in  the  place  was  at  her 
service  instantly.  "  Drive  quickly,"  she  said. 
The  man  lashed  his  horses,  and  in  five  minutes  drew 
them  up  at  the  St  George. 


LE  TTERS  OF  GREA  T  MOMENT.  l  gQ 

This  breathing-time,  short  as  it  was,  had  given 
her  courage.  She  was  ready  now  to  meet  the 
worst  that  could  be  dreaded.  As  she  went  slowly 
up  the  steps  a  boy  in  livery  threw  open  the  great, 
swinging  doors  that  fell  back  behind  her  with  a 
muffled  sound.  The  huge  dining-room  was  full 
of  people.  She  waited  for  an  instant  just  upon 
the  threshold  with  a  strange,  confused  impression, 
that  haunted  her  for  years,  of  light  and  color, 
of  ringing  glasses  and  the  hum  of  voices.  Then, 
directly  opposite,  far  off  across  the  marble  floor 
at  a  small  table  in  a  window,  she  saw  Mait- 
land  Ambrose  and  her  friend,  Miss  Flossie 
Feathering. 

It  seemed  as  if  her  heart  stopped  beating.  She 
drew  back  ;  they  had  not  seen  her ;  he  was  leaning 
forward  and  laughing  with  a  champagne-glass 
in  his  hand.  She  turned  to  go  out;  then  she 
changed  her  mind,  wondered  if  she  could  walk,  and 
did  walk  as  steadily  as  possible  to  the  door  of 
a  smaller  room  close  by  where  Mrs.  Bruni  was 
standing. 

Of  course  that  dear,  absent-minded,  philanthropic 
woman  had  not  seen  her;  she  had  been  looking 
another  way.  But  now  she  put  out  both  her  hands 
to  Helena. 

"  My  dear,  you  look  like  death  !  "  she  said.  "  Do 
sit  down." 

"  It  is  nothing — I  want  a  glass  of  water — that  is 
all." 

Everything  whirled.     Helena  tried  to  look  about 


2oo  ROSES  OF  SHADOW, 

her  and  to  think  why  she  was  there  and  where  she 
was.  But  it  was  all  bewildering. 

Mrs.  Bruni  found  a  smelling-bottle  and  put  it  into 
her  hand.  "  Take  this,  my  dear ;  I  will  call  a  car- 
riage." 

"  No,"  said  Helena,  "  I  have  one  here ;  it  is 
nothing — I  am  better,  but  I  think  I  will  go  home." 

"  Of  course ;  of  course ;  come  out  into  the  air — 
it  will  do  you  good.  I  shall  go  with  you."  This, 
as  Helena  stepped  into  the  carriage. 

"  No,  indeed  !  On  no  account.  Indeed,  I  would 
much  rather  not !  "  said  Helena,  while  her  friend  in- 
sisted. "  I  am  perfectly  well  now, — drive  on  !  "  she 
added  to  the  coachman.  And  she  leaned  out  of 
the  carriage  window  smiling  and  nodding  her  thanks 
to  Mrs.  Bruni,  who  was  left  behind  in  spite  of  her- 
self. "  All  my  invention  wasted  !  "  she  explained  to 
her  husband  afterward.  "  With  a  perfect  fib  all  ready 
to  be  told !  " 

In  her  bewilderment  Helena  quite  forgot  to  ask 
the  meaning  of  her  strange  summons — forgot, 
even,  her  surprise  at  it.  All  faintness  had  passed ; 
her  face  burned  with  indignation,  as  if  she  had 
been  struck,  and  were  still  smarting  from  the  blow. 
She  could  think  of  nothing  else. 

But  when  she  reached  home  there  was  the  letter 
lying  just  where  she  had  left  it  on  the  table  in  the 
hall.  She  read  it  once  more  and  read  between  the 
lines.  The  mental  numbness  left  her,  and  the 
message  no  longer  needed  explanation. 

She  sat  down  at   her  desk  in  the  drawing-room 


LETTERS  OF  GREAT  MOMENT.  2OI 

and  looked  over  her  engagement-book.  Yes — 
there  was  one  that  she  did  not  care  to  keep.  Then 
she  rang  the  bell  and  wrote  a  formal  note  in  the 
third  person  : 

"  Miss  Bromfield  regrets  that  she  finds  it  impossible  to  keep  her 
appointment  for  to-morrow  with  Miss  Feathering." 

"  Post  this  immediately,"  she  said  to  the  maid. 

When  the  girl  had  left  the  room,  she  opened  a 
little  drawer  in  the  desk  and  took  out  all  that  it 
contained — some  letters,  one  or  two  withered 
flowers  and  a  tiny  velvet  case  made  to  hold  a  ring 
that  was  there  upon  her  hand  and  that  she  now 
drew  off.  She  looked  at  it  thoughtfully  for  a 
moment,  read  the  date  engraved  upon  the  inner 
side  and  put  it  away  in  the  box.  Then  she  wrote 
another  letter — this  time  an  informal  one,  Avithout 
date  or  signature  or  any  of  the  usual  convention- 
alities : 

"  I  have  learned  why  and  with  whom  you  were  detained  to-day 
at  court — no  matter  how,  I  know  it.  There  is  no  need  of  any  ex- 
planation. These  things  I  send  you  will  explain  themselves. 
Please  return  mine  to  me — send  all  at  your  convenience.  I  can 
think  of  no  reason  why  we  should  be  forced  to  meet." 

She  sealed  these  recollections  up  together,  put- 
ting this  last  letter  with  the  others.  Then  she 
called  the  maid  again,  and  ordered  her  to  send  the 
package  by  a  messenger. 

"  Will  there  be  an  answer,  Miss  Helena  ? 

"  I  am  not  sure.     Tell  the  man  to  wait  and  see." 

He  waited  long,  and  so  did  she.     The  afternoon 


202  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

passed,  night  came.  She  went  to  her  room,  dressed 
for  dinner,  and  admired  her  own  self-control.  She 
came  back  to  the  drawing-room,  cut  the  last  num- 
ber of  "  Punch,"  and  tried  to  find  it  amusing.  At 
last  the  door  opened,  and  a  package  very  like  her 
own,  but  not  her  own,  was  put  into  her  hand. 
When  she  broke  the  seals,  two  or  three  trinkets  fell 
out  of  it — a  watch-charm,  a  pencil  case,  a  little  gold 
pansy,  made  into  a  scarf-pin.  With  these  she  found 
her  letters  and  one  from  him : 

"  You  leave  me  no  choice,  and  I  take  you  at  your  word,  of 
course.  I  might  defend  myself,  but  why  should  I?  You  would 
not  listen.  I  thought  you  cared  for  me  a  little,  but  that,  it  seems, 
was  a  mistake — and  if  you  have  no  excuse  to  offer  for  a  course  so 
heartless  and  unfeeling,  why  let  it  go.  All  things  considered,  we 
are  both  well  out  of  it." 

She  read  this  twice;  then  she  tore  it  up,  and 
threw  the  pieces  into  the  fire;  her  letters,  too. 
They  blazed  up  gloriously.  At  that  moment  in 
came  her  father. 

"  Ellie !     Why— what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I  have  broken  my  engagement,"  she  replied. 

The  captain  had  tried  hard  to  like  Ambrose. 
Indeed,  a  moment  before,  he  would  have  assured 
himself  that  there  was  nothing  to  dislike  in  the 
man.  But  now  he  gave  a  cry  of  something  more 
than  mere  astonishment — of  exultation.  Then  she 
broke  down,  leaning  there  upon  the  mantel-piece, 
and  crying  like  a  child.  And  he  was  all  kindness 
and  sympathy  for  her,  and  soothed  her  in  the  ten- 


LETTERS  OF  GREAT  MOMENT. 


203 


derest  and  gentlest  way.  Only  afterward,  as  he  lay 
awake  in  the  watches  of  the  night,  he  told  himself 
that  he  was,  without  doubt,  the  happiest  father  in 
the  world. 


XIII. 

PROBLEM    AND   SOLUTION. 

ONCE  more  Mr.  Musgrave  waited  at  the  old 
place  on  the  river  bank,  and  watched  the 
great  white  pine  tree.  His  long  illness  had  left  its 
mark  upon  him;  he  looked  thinner  and  paler  for 
those  dreary  days  and  nights  in  the  West.  His 
step  had  grown  more  cautious ;  but  he  carried  him- 
self with  the  old  precision,  a  model  of  elegance, 
even  to  the  finger-tips.  That  very  afternoon,  before 
his  glass  at  the  Waterside  Hotel,  he  had  smiled 
complacently  to  think  how  remarkably  well-pre- 
served he  was.  What  were  a  few  years,  more  or 
less,  in  him,  when  his  heart  still  beat  wildly  with 
one  absorbing  passion,  like  a  boy's  ?  He  had  often 
heard  that  women  were  flattered  by  the  attention 
of  older  men — men  who  might  reasonably  be  sup- 
posed to  have  outlived  love-making,  but  who  were 
yet  unable  to  resist  its  charm.  The  idea  was  so 
clever  that  it  must  be  true. 

Still,  that  shade  of  uneasiness  that  seems  insep- 
arable from  all  courtship  would  steal  over  him  at 
times.  Her  letters  had  not  been  all  that  he  had 
hoped  to  find  them.  There  was  not  sentiment 
enough — or  rather,  there  was  not  variety  enough  in 
204 


PROBLEM  AND  SOLUTION. 

the  sentiment.  It  was  as  if  her  complete  letter- 
writer  had  opened  at  the  word  Love,  and  then  had 
lost  all  its  remaining  pages.  To  be  sure,  letter- 
writing  was  a  gift;  few,  perhaps,  could  write  so 
faultlessly  as  he.  Yet  he  had  been  at  home  now 
four  days.  He  had  seen  her  once  at  dinner  with 
the  family,  had  exchanged  a  few  hurried  words 
with  her  in  the  dark,  afterward.  But  she  had  made 
no  definite  movement  toward  him.  Even  this 
appointment  he  was  keeping  had  been  granted  at 
his  demand.  It  would  not  do.  They  must  be 
married,  and  at  once.  He  was  determined  to  insist 
upon  it.  If  she  hesitated,  it  could  only  be  that  she 
had  grown  less  fond  of  her  bargain.  She  would 
not  hesitate,  of  course,  in  the  face  of  all  his  sacri- 
fices— this  clandestine  marriage,  for  instance,  to 
which  he  had  pledged  himself,  and  which  must 
surely  set  everybody  on  to  say  disagreeable  things. 
But  when  they  were  fast  married,  what  could  it 
matter?  His  social  position  was  absolute;  on  all 
sides  he  was  respected  and  feared.  He  need  only 
present  his  wife  to  have  her  accepted  everywhere. 
What  could  it  matter  then?  Let  the  gossips  enjoy 
their  nine  days'  wonder  while  it  lasted ;  he  could 
afford  to  snap  his  fingers  at  them.  She  had  gone 
too  far  to  hesitate.  No,  she  would  not  do  it.  But 
why  should  she  keep  him  waiting  now  this  chill 
September  afternoon,  even  ten  minutes  after  the 
appointed  time  ? 

He  strained  his  eyes  in  vain  and  sighed  impa- 
tiently.    He  heard  a  light,  mocking   laugh  close 


2  06  *  OSES  OF 

behind  him  and  felt  a  gentle  touch  upon  his  sleeve  ; 
then  turning  quickly  he  caught  her  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  her. 

"  Don't !  "  she  said,  struggling  to  free  herself; 
but  he  still  held  her  by  the  hand.  "See  how  you 
have  crushed  these  flowers,"  she  went  on,  pointing 
to  some  wild  asters  in  her  dress.  "  They  were 
lovely !  " 

"  Yes — lovely,"  he  repeated ;  but  it  was  of  her 
that  he  spoke,  as  he  took  her  other  hand  in  his. 

"  How  cold  you  are !  "  said  he. 

"  Yes  ;  it  is  cold.  I  have  been  for  a  walk  and  I 
came  back  slowly  through  the  woods.  Have  I 
kept  you  waiting  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  his  impatience  all  forgotten.  She 
had  brought  him  back  from  September  into  June. 
"  Let  us  walk  here  up  and  down;  it  is  so  long  since 
I  have  seen  you." 

"  Yes ;  forty-eight  hours  nearly." 

"  But  that  was  only  a  glimpse.  I  have  been 
without  you  four  months. — I  want  you  all  to  myself 
— always.  Don't  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  feeling  that  his  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  her  and  not  daring  to  lift  her  own;  "yes, 
I  understand." 

"  It  is  time  to  end  all  this — to  make  our  scandal 
and  have  done  with  it  Now,  before  this  week  is 
over ! " 

"So  soon?"  she  asked,  trembling.  "So — sud- 
denly, I  mean  ?  " 

"  Suddenly  ?  "    he    cried,    angrily ;    "  suddenly  ? 


PROBLEM  AND  SOLUTION'.  2O7 

When  we  have  considered  it  from  spring  to 
autumn !  Is  that  the  way  to  make  a  sudden  reso- 
lution ?  " 

"  No,  no  ;  I  was  thinking  only  of  you, — of  your 
illness.  You  have  been  ill  so  long — you  are  hardly 
well  again." 

"  Absurd  !  Look  at  me !  I  was  never  better — 
never  in  my  life — look  at  me,  I  say  !  "  She  obeyed, 
but  only  to  perplex  him.  "  I  don't  understand 
you,"  he  went  on ;  "  or  rather  I  begin  to  think 
that  I  do  understand  you  perfectly.  What  is  it  ? 
What  does  it  mean  ?  Are  you  tired  of  me  ?  Are 
you  playing  fast  and  loose  with  me,  Denise  ?" 

"  You  have  no  right  to  ask  that,"  she  cried, 
indignantly.  "  I  have  watched  and  prayed  for  you. 
I  have  had  no  other  thought.  What  else  have  I 
told  you  in  my  letters  ?  You  do  not  love  me, 
then,  since  you  can  doubt  me.  Well,  we  will  make 
no  scandal.  We  will  part  here  and  go  our  separate 
ways." 

"  Denise,  are  you  blind  ?  It  is  my  love  that 
makes  me  doubt.  I  am  jealous  of  everything — 
of  the  flowers  you  wear,  the  time  that  keeps  us 
apart.  Your  way  is  my  way — there  can  be  no 
other.  Are  you  not  ready  to  take  my  hand  and  go 
with  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered;  "  I  have  said  so  a  thousand 
times.  Whenever  you  like — to-morrow,  if  it  pleases 
you." 

He  caught  at  the  word.  "  To-morrow  it  shall  be 
then  !  Listen  !  To-morrow  at  this  time  you  will 


208  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

take  the  afternoon  train  to  town.  Leave  a  letter 
behind  you  explaining  your  absence  in  any  way 
you  choose.  Tell  the  truth,  if  you  think  best.  I 
will  meet  you  at  the  station  when  the  train  arrives 
and  to-morrow  night  we  will  be  married.  My  sister 
shall  have  a  letter  from  me  to  confirm  yours,  and 
the  family  may  fight  it  out  among  themselves.  We 
can  return  to  face  them  when  we  see  fit.  Do  you 
approve  of  this  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  will  do  it  ?  " 

"  Yes — to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow,"  he  repeated,  bending  down  to  kiss 
her.  At  that  moment  they  were  startled  by  a 
sound  in  the  woods — a  shrill  war-whoop  followed 
by  a  shout  of  Miss  Gerard's  name. 

"  It  is  only  Annette,"  she  said.     "  Go !  " 

He  hurried  away  and  she  followed  him  with  her 
eyes.  "  He  has  grown  very  old,"  she  thought. 
"  He  is  gone,  and  it  is  done.  But  I  have  one  little 
chance  left — one  little  chance,  that  is  all ! "  Her 
eyes  fell  upon  a  glove  lying  at  her  feet  where  he  had 
dropped  it.  She  caught  it  up  just  in  time,  for 
Annette  came  out  upon  her,  struggling  through  the 
underbrush. 

"  Why  didn't  you  answer  me  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Miss  Gerard. 

"  Thinking  !  "  returned  the  child.  "  I  wouldn't 
be  always  thinking !  What  makes  grown-up  people 
think  so  much  ?  " 

And  again  Miss  Gerard  could  not  answer. 


PROBLEM  AND  SOLUTION. 

When  she  was  safe  in  her  own  room  she  wrote  a 
few  lines  to  Marvin  asking  him  to  meet  her  in  town 
the  next  morning — Saturday,  her  free  day.  "  Don't 
fail  me — "  she  added,  in  a  postscript.  "  I  am  going 
away  for  a  long  time." 

"  That  will  bring  him,"  she  said  to  herself  as  she 
came  down  stairs  to  despatch  the  note.  There  were 
several  letters  lying  in  the  box  on  the  hall-table ; 
she  put  them  all  together  and  sent  them  to  the 
village  in  time  for  the  night  mail. 

After  dinner  Mrs.  Elliston  called  for  music.  She 
played  a  while  and  then  took  an  early  leave  of  the 
family.  "  I  am  going  to  town  to-morrow  morning," 
she  said,  carelessly,  "  about  that  plum-colored  skirt 
of  mine."  This,  to  account  for  any  possible  piece 
of  luggage  she  might  take  with  her. 

"  Oh,  then,  my  dear,  will  you  get  one  or  two 
things  for  me  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Elliston.  "  It  is  too  bad 
to  trouble  you,  but  Mr.  Elliston  forgets  everything 
on  principle  and  Jack  is  never  here,  you  know.  I 
will  hand  you  a  list  in  the  morning." 

She  smiled  to  think  how  little  they  dreamed  of 
the  thunderbolt  in  hand  and  ready  to  be  hurled. 
Upstairs  she  moved  quietly  about,  putting  all  her 
possessions  into  the  exquisite  order  that  her 
methodical  mind  suggested.  She  reflected  that  all 
would  be  sent  to  her  some  day,  and  she  wished  to 
leave  nothing  out  of  place.  Then  she  packed  a 
small  portmanteau  for  her  journey.  And  last  of  all, 
she  composed  her  note  to  Mrs.  Elliston.  This  was 
a  hard  task  that  it  took  long  to  accomplish.  Finally, 


2  j  0  Jt  OSES  OF  SHAD  O  W. 

her  statement  of  the  case  was  condensed  into  a  few 
words  pleasantly  vague  in  their  nature.  She 
mentioned  no  names,  but  hinted  at  a  new  relation- 
ship that  was  soon  to  exist  between  them ;  and  she 
begged  forgiveness  for  all  her  little  failings,  especially 
for  the  ungrateful  manner  of  her  departure.  She 
locked  this  up  in  the  empty  drawer  of  her  dressing- 
table,  leaving  the  key  where  it  could  be  found 
readily.  Then  she  put  out  her  candle  that  was 
flaring  low  in  the  socket,  and  soon  slept  the  sleep 
of  gentleness. 

Up  betimes  in  the  morning,  she  sent  her  port- 
manteau away  by  the  first  train,  that  it  might  escape 
Mrs.  Elliston's  wandering  eyes.  She  did  all  that 
was  expected  of  her,  giving  the  servants  their  orders 
for  the  day  and  making  plans  for  the  next.  And 
when  the  hour  came  she  went  away  without  casting 
any  tell-tale  look  behind.  In  town,  she  found 
Marvin  waiting  at  the  station.  They  passed  at  once 
into  the  streets,  that  were  filled  at  this  mid-day  hour 
with  all  sorts  of  people  drawn  out  of  doors  by  the 
splendid  autumn  weather.  Miss  Gerard  looked 
about  her  uneasily. 

"  Let  us  get  out  of  the  crowd  as  soon  as  possible," 
she  suggested.  "  I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

"  We  will  go  to  our  old  retreat — the  graveyard," 
said  Marvin.  "There  no  one  will  disturb  us." 

They  hurried  on  in  silence,  till  suddenly  she 
plucked  him  by  the  sleeve.  "  Quick ! "  she  whispered. 
"  Let  us  wait  here  a  moment — here  in  this  doorway. 
Look  there ! " 


PROBLEM  AND  SOL  UTION.  2 1 1 

"Jack!"  said  Marvin,  peering  out  of  the  shadow. 
"  He  has  crossed  the  street — he  did  not  see  us. " 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"  Yes ;  but  if  he  had  ?     What  then  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  of  course.  I  did  not  want  him  to  join 
us — that  was  all." 

They  found  the  sexton  unlocking  the  iron  grate, 
to  throw  his  picturesque  little  breathing-place  open 
to  the  afternoon  public.  They  were  first  upon  the 
ground,  which  for  the  moment  was  all  theirs.  "  It  is 
a  dear  place,"  she  said,  as  they  began  to  lose  them- 
selves under  the  elm  trees.  "  I  shall  always  remem- 
ber it,  wherever  I  may  be." 

"  You  are  really  going  away?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes — unless — " 

"Unless?" 

"  Unless  some  miracle  should  prevent  it.  You 
promised  once  to  help  me,  in  time  of  need.  Do 
you  remember?" 

"Yes.     In  case  you  had  a  problem." 

"That  is  it,"  she  sighed.  "A  problem.  I  want 
you  to  advise  me — if  you  will." 

"Of  course  I  will.     What  is  it?" 

They  had  come  to  a  remote  corner  close  under 
the  library  walls.  She  left  the  path  and  went  up  to 
a  low  tomb,  covered  by  a  broad  slab  of  marble,  with 
names  and  dates  that  were  almost  worn  away.  She 
tried  to  read  them  absently. 

"  Dead  and  gone  these  hundred  years,"  she  said. 
"  Let  us  rest  here  and  I  will  tell  you." 

"It  will  be  hard  to  make  you  understand,"  she 


2I2  J?QS£S  OF  SHADOW". 

continued,  seating  herself  upon  the  stone  while  he 
stood  by  attentively.  "  How  can  you  put  yourself 
in  my  place?  Remember  I  am  a  woman  and  poor, 
finding  work  detestable,  asking  myself  why  I  en- 
dure it  longer.  And  to  me  there  comes  a  way  out 
of  it — not  the  best  way,  perhaps — but  one  to  make 
life  easier  for  me." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Marvin. 

"Well,  there  comes  to  me  some  one  older  than  I 
am — much  older,  but  who  is  very  rich  and  very 
presentable,  to  save  me  with  a  single  word  from  all 
this  wretchedness.  Some  one  who  says  :  '  I  am  at 
your  feet — make  me  happy — be  my  wife  !"' 

"  And  you  have  answered  him,  '  Yes.'  " 

"  I  am  deciding  what  to  do;  that  is  my  problem." 

"  One  question,"  said  Marvin.  "  Do  you  love 
him?" 

"  I  respect  him,"  she  answered. 

"  Do  you  love  him  ?  " 

"  Que  ne  suis-je  sans  vie 
Ousans  amour  ?" 

she  murmured,  softly.  "  You  remember  the  song. 
Love  proves  sometimes  an  infliction." 

"  You  are  begging  my  question — not  answering 
it,"  he  returned. 

Miss  Gerard  shrugged  her  shoulders  impatiently. 
"  No,  then,"  she  replied,  "  I  do  not  love  him." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  She  traced  out 
one  or  two  of  the  worn  letters  with  the  tip  of  her 
parasol,  and  he  paced  up  and  down  thoughtfully. 


PROBLEM  AND  SOLUTION.  2\\ 

The  hum  of  the  street  rose  and  fell;  a  cricket 
chirped  in  the  long  grass;  some  one  in  the  library 
closed  a  window  gently.  But  they  were  still  alone 
and  these  sounds  passed  unnoticed. 

Marvin  stopped  in  his  walk  and  met  her  look 
gravely.  "  You  want  an  answer,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
think  there  is  but  one.  Stop  while  there  is  time. 
To  go  on  is  to  do  him  wrong,  and  you  would  es- 
cape from  slavery  only  to  sell  yourself  to  a  master. 
What  could  you  gain  by  it  ?  " 

"  A  home,"  she  said,  quietly.  "  How  much  that 
means  ?  Think  of  my  life,  its  daily  drudgery,  the 
loneliness  of  it !  Only  to  look  forward  is  to  be  un- 
happy. But  how  can  you  judge  of  this?  I  knew 
you  would  not  understand." 

"A  home,  without  love  !  Why  not  without  light 
and  air  ?  In  a  month  you  would  hate  him  and  all 
the  rest  of  it.  You  would  despise  yourself.  It  is 
a  great  temptation  that  he  offers  you.  Yield,  and 
you  will  make  a  terrible  mistake." 

"  You  are  horribly  severe.  I  exchange  one  form 
of  misery  for  another  that  seems  to  me  less  miser- 
able. Well,  why  not?  Why  not  take  the  one 
chance  that  falls  to  me  ?  " 

"And  the  man?" 

"  The  man  ?  If  it  comes  to  that,  I  can  pretend  a 
little.  He  need  never  know." 

"  You  are  unjust  to  yourself.  At  least,  do  nothing 
rashly.  Wait  and  think  it  over." 

"  I  have  waited.  I  must  decide  now — to-day.  Why 
did  I  ask  your  advice?  "  she  added.  "  I  have  decided." 


2  ! 4  XOSES  OF  SHADO  W. 

"  No,  you  must  not — you  shall  not  do  it.  I  v/ill 
not  permit  it.  I  will  prevent  you." 

"  Prevent  me  ?     You  ?     By  what  right — why  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  For  the  best  of  reasons  ! 
Because  I — " 

"  Because  I  love  you,"  he  was  on  the  point  of 
saying.  "  Why  shouldn't  I  say  it  ?  "  he  thought ; 
and  the  very  thought  at  such  a  moment  was  its  own 
answer.  He  hesitated. 

She  had  done  what  she  had  hoped  to  do,  and 
now  she  looked  at  him  with  tender  eyes.  "  Why?" 
she  asked  again. 

He  saw  the  look  and  understood  it.  "  She  loves 
me,"  he  said  to  himself.  "She  loves  me."  Yet  still 
he  hesitated. 

"  Denise !  "  said  a  sweet,  trembling  voice  close  be- 
side them.  "  Denise !  " 

Absorbed  in  their  discussion,  neither  had  noticed 
that  a  door  in  the  wall  behind  them  had  opened, 
and  that  they  were  no  longer  alone. 

Marvin  looked  up,  startled  at  the  interruption, 
and  stood  face  to  face  with  Miss  Bromfield's  poor 
little  protegee,  Amy  Ruel. 

"  Denise  !  "  said  the  girl  again.  Then  she  added, 
by  way  of  apology  to  Marvin,  "  It  is  my  sister. 
Don't  you  know  me,  Denise?  " 

Marvin  turned  back  in  surprise  to  Miss  Gerard, 
who  had  risen  and  now  stood  adjusting  a  ribbon  of 
her  dress.  "  There  is  some  mistake,"  she  said,  in- 
differently, without  looking  up. 

The  girl  drew  back  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 


PROBLEM  AND  SOL  UTION.  2 1 $ 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  in  a  tone  of  indescribable  sadness. 
Then,  recovering  herself,  she  continued  :  "  I  know 
why  you  say  that.  But  the  mistake  is  yours,  not 
mine.  Mr.  Marvin  will  believe  me,  for  I  am  speak- 
ing the  truth  ;  it  is  so  easily  proved.  See  !  "  And 
from  a  shabby  leathern  purse,  worn  and  shrunken 
with  its  years  of  emptiness,  she  took  a  small  picture 
and  put  it  into  Marvin's  hands. 

It  was  an  old  photograph  not  unlike  that  which 
Helena  had  once  given  him ;  but  this  time  the 
likeness  was  Miss  Gerard's;  and  upon  it  was  written 
in  the  scrawling,  foreign  hand  that  he  knew  perfectly, 

Denise  Laurence   Valerie  Ruel. 

Marvin  glanced  at  this,  read  the  name  and  re- 
turned the  picture  to  its  owner.  Then  he  looked 
again  at  Miss  Gerard,  who  had  seen  it  too,  and 
whose  confusion  was  most  evident. 

"  I  thought  you  had  no  relatives,"  said  he. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  words  themselves ;  but 
in  the  tone  with  which  he  spoke  them  there  was 
eveiything.  She  stood  before  him  convicted  of  de- 
liberate falsehood,  feeling  that  in  one  instant  all  his 
respect  for  her,  his  friendship  even,  had  passed  out 
of  her  reach  and  could  never  be  regained.  What 
should  she  do  or  say  ?  She  spoke  in  desperation 
and  the  words  choked  her. 

"  They  were  dead  to  me,"  she  stammered. 

But  the  sister  she  had  denied  interrupted  her  with 
scathing  words. 


2 !  6  'X  OSES  OF  SHAD  0  W 

"You  did  your  best  to  kill  them !"  she  cried. 
"  Shall  I  tell  him  what  it  was  and  let  him  judge 
you  ?  "  Then  the  tears  would  not  be  kept  back  longer ; 
she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  sobbed  bitterly. 

All  that  was  worst  in  the  older  woman's  nature 
rose  into  her  face  and  distorted  it  with  rage.  She 
looked  malignant  as  a  fiend. 

"  Tell  him  what  you  please  ! "  she  retorted ;  and, 
brushing  by  them  angrily,  she  swept  out  into  the 
path  and  away. 

"  I  have  lost  him,"  she  thought  as  she  hurried 
on.  "  Well,  what  does  it  matter?  It  might  have 
come  to  nothing,  after  all." 

At  the  gate  she  stopped  and  looked  back. 
Through  the  trees  she  could  see  Marvin  bending 
over  her  sister,  who  had  fallen  like  a  flower  broken 
in  a  storm.  On  her  knees,  with  her  hands  clasped 
over  one  of  the  old  gray  head-stones,  she  was  still 
sobbing  as  if  she  would  sob  her  heart  away. 

"  She  will  tell  him  ! "  said  Miss  Gerard,  as  she 
went  on  through  the  streets.  "  She  will  tell  him, 
and  what  is  it  to  me  ?  "  She  tried  to  laugh  away 
the  thought  that  haunted  her. 

The  man  was  lost  irrecoverably ;  she  had  loved 
him  honestly,  she  loved  him  still ;  but  her  love  had 
come  too  late. 

There  were  other  things  that  she  must  think  of. 
If  the  story  from  which  she  had  fled  to-day,  like  a 
guilty  thing,  were  to  be  known  everywhere  to-mor- 
row, it  could  do  her  little  harm.  To-morrow,  her 
position  would  be  unassailable ;  she  could  defy  the 


PR OBLEM  AND  SOL  UTION.  2 1 7 

world's  contempt  and  its  reproaches,  with  the  world 
indeed  at  her  feet  as  Mr.  Musgrave's  wife.  For,  of 
course,  she  had  no  idea  of  withdrawing  from  this 
bargain  now.  That  name  was  her  safeguard,  her 
cherished  amulet  always  in  reserve.  Mrs.  John 
Musgrave !  How  well  it  sounded !  How  Mrs. 
Elliston  would  hate  her  for  it !  But  she,  to-morrow, 
would  be  only  a  poor  relation — her  envy  would  add 
lustre  to  the  triumph. 

Near  the  station  was  a  quiet,  old-fashioned  hotel, 
that  had  been  a  tavern  with  a  grass-plot  and  swing- 
ing sign-board  before  it  in  stage-coach  days.  Now 
many  times  enlarged  and  rebuilt  out  of  all  recogni- 
tion, yet  still  hampered  by  some  of  its  homely  tradi- 
tions, it  was  a  sober,  respectable  place  enough,  much 
frequented  by  plain  country  people  and  by  com- 
mercial travelers  of  the  steadier  sort.  Here  Miss 
Gerard  secluded  herself  for  the  few  hours  of  single 
life  remaining  to  her.  As  she  watched  them  out  in 
a  corner  of  the  haircloth  sofa  that  meagrely  fur- 
nished one  side  of  the  dingy  "  Ladies'  Parlor,"  it 
occurred  to  her  that  this  wedding-day  had  been  a 
strange  one.  The  novel  in  her  lap  lay  open  at  its 
first  page ;  she  could  not  distract  her  mind  with  it ; 
nor  could  she  delude  herself  unto  the  belief  that 
she  was  altogether  happy.  She  had  been  too  near 
real  happiness  for  that.  She  knew  that  Marvin  had 
stated  her  case  justly,  so  far  as  he  could  judge  of  it; 
and  she  knew,  better  than  he  did,  how  utterly  false, 
mean  and  cruel  her  course  had  been  throughout. 
But  she  admitted  this  only  to  declare  that  there  was 


2  i g  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

no  help  for  it ;  that  the  blame  lay  not  with  her,  but 
rather  with  the  unknown  quantity — the  fate  that 
had  shaped  this  future  she  was  now  accepting.  She 
was  a  victim:  she  must  endure  her  martyrdom 
bravely,  and  make  a  virtue  of  it.  The  trial  could 
not  last  forever.  Some  day,  perhaps  no  very  distant 
one,  would  bring  release.  To  a  widow  with  a 
fortune  many  of  the  world's  joys  were  possible. 
Perhaps  even  the  love  she  longed  for  and  had 
dreamed  of  stood  aloof  there  among  them,  only 
waiting  to  be  realized. 

So  she  went  on  building  ghostly  castles  in  the  air 
until  her  hour  came.  In  ten  minutes  the  train 
would  be  due  at  the  station  where,  perhaps,  Mr. 
Musgrave  was  already  waiting.  He  had  once  given 
her  a  ring,  a  splendid,  antique  gem  that  she  had 
never  dared  to  wear  before  the  Ellistons.  She  put 
it  on  now,  and  it  recalled  to  her  a  great  picture  that 
she  had  seen  years  before  in  some  foreign  gallery, 
— a  picture  of  a  youth,  laurel-crowned,  in  a  purple 
garment,  with  treasures  heaped  around  him — with 
jewels  and  golden  vessels  scattered  at  his  feet,  and 
on  his  face  a  look  of  profound  melancholy,  of 
weariness  and  distrust  of  all  things  ;  for  everywhere, 
round  his  wrists  and  round  his  ankles,  through  the 
embroidered  robe  and  through  the  gifts  spread  out 
before  him,  ran  the  links  of  a  heavy,  iron  chain. 
She  remembered  it  well,  and  thought  it  the  saddest 
picture  she  had  ever  seen ;  and  now  a  chain  like  his 
was  forged  for  her,  and  she  had  just  placed  its  first 
link  upon  her  hand. 


PROBLEM  AND  SOLUTION.  2IO 

Mr.  Musgrave  was  not  upon  the  platform,  and  she 
withdrew  from  the  crowd  into  a  narrow  waiting- 
room  with  huge  windows  that  commanded  an 
interior  view  of  all  the  fierce  activity  of  the  place. 
The  trains  came  and  went,  the  hackmen  shouted, 
the  porters  and  truckmen  rushed  hither  and  thither 
through  a  horde  of  restless  passengers.  Another 
train  came  in — her  train.  Other  people  met  their 
friends,  clasped  hands  with  them  and  were  gone;, 
she,  only,  was  left  unprovided  for.  But  she  was  not 
uneasy.  There  was  a  second  train  due  a  little  later 
in  the  afternoon.  She  had  misunderstood  Mr. 
Musgrave,  of  course ;  it  was  a  matter  of  another 
half  hour,  that  was  all.  But  when  this,  too,  arrived, 
and  she  was  left  alone  once  more,  her  face  length- 
ened with  an  anxious  look.  He  had  been  detained. 
Something  must  have  happened.  What  ?  It  was 
idle  to  conjecture.  She  could  only  wait — wait  and 
hope.  Who  has  not  at  some  time  waited  out  a 
dreary  hour  at  a  railway  station  ?  Who  can  not 
easily  imagine  the  misery  of  waiting  when  the  hours 
of  suspense  are  multiplied  ?  She  grew  faint  and 
pale  under  it ;  the  jarring  of  the  trains  gave  her  a 
racking  headache ;  it  was  torture.  The  shadows 
fell  under  the  dim,  smoky  arches.  Night  drew  on, 
the  lamps  were  lighted ;  the  officials  eyed  her  sus- 
piciously ;  why  should  this  woman  linger  there  so 
long  alone?  For  no  good,  surely.  For  no  good, 
indeed !  •  Yet  still  she  waited — and  still  he  did 
not  come. 


XIV. 

"SHADOWS  WE  ARE,  SHADOWS  WE  PURSUE!" 

TTNFORTUNATELY  for  his  peace  of  mind— a 
U  mind  none  too  tranquil  now  at  best — Jack 
Elliston  had  seen  Marvin  and  Miss  Gerard  while 
they  were  waiting  in  the  doorway.  Moreover,  with 
that  inward  eye,  which,  the  poet  to  the  contrary 
notwithstanding,  is  not  always  "  the  bliss  of  soli- 
tude," he  had  seen  very  clearly  that  they  were 
waiting  there  to  avoid  him.  Now  he  had  taken  his 
little  affair  of  the  heart  by  no  means  philosophically. 
The  discovery  of  its  utter  hopelessness  had  lashed 
him  into  a  fury,  all  the  fiercer  because  suppressed 
by  the  remnant  of  common  sense  in  him.  He  had 
chosen  to  think  himself  wronged,  and  neither  time 
nor  absence  had  availed  to  cure  him  of  this  false 
impression.  On  the  contrary,  he  had  nursed  it 
tenderly,  taking  a  positive  delight  in  telling  himself 
how  completely  miserable  he  had  become.  The 
hidden  fire  smouldered  sometimes,  but  it  was  always 
there ;  meanwhile  his  attitude  toward  the  rest  of 
mankind  grew  vaguely  misanthropic.  His  friends 
shook  their  heads  over  him  and  feared  that  Jack 
was  "  losing  his  grip."  Western  architecture  had 
soured  him,  one  said  out  of  respect  to  his  profession  ; 
220 


SHADOWS  WE  ARE,  SHADOWS  WE  PURSUE!  22l 

the  doctors  hinted  at  malaria,  and  wondered  which 
of  them  he  would  call  in;  of  course,  until  he  said 
the  word,  a  closer  diagnosis  was  no  business  of 
theirs. 

On  this  autumn  afternoon,  without  betraying  his 
consciousness  of  Miss  Gerard's  manoeuvres,  he  kept 
on  his  course  until  he  felt  sure  that  she  must  have 
forgotten  him.  Then  without  asking  himself  why 
he  did  so,  he  turned  and  followed  her.  Marvin's 
tall  figure  easily  detached  itself  from  the  surround- 
ings ;  he  soon  caught  up  with  them,  and  at  a  per- 
fectly safe  distance  could  perceive  that  they  had 
dismissed  him  from  their  thoughts,  and  that  they 
were  walking  leisurely  absorbed  in  talk  which  it 
maddened  Jack  to  think  was  the  talk  of  lovers.  All 
at  once,  he  found  that  they  had  disappeared  as  sud- 
denly as  if  some  rose-colored  cloud  had  intervened 
between  them  and  the  things  of  earth.  He  rushed 
on,  stopped  at  the  open  gate  of  the  graveyard,  and 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her  dress  making  its  bit  of  color 
between  the  gray  trunks  of  the  trees.  To  intrude 
upon  them  there  was  out  of  the  question,  and  he 
was  on  the  point  of  giving  up  his  unworthy  pursuit 
when  he  remembered  the  library.  "  It  was  made 
for  me,"  he  thought;  and,  by  taking  a  short  cut  at 
breakneck  speed  up  one  blind  alley  and  down 
another,  he  was  actually  on  the  ground  before  them. 
He  went  into  one  of  the  lower  rooms  where  two  or 
three  gray-beards  sat  dozing  over  their  newspapers; 
and,  catching  up  a  review,  he  planted  himself  at  a 
window  that  overlooked  the  vines  and  hollyhocks, 


222  X OSES  OF  SHAD  O  W. 

the  verbenas  and  petunias,  every  foot  in  fact  of  the 
familiar  ground  that  for  half  the  year  seems  to 
smile  at  its  own  solemnity,  as  if  it  would  divert  our 
thoughts  from  death  to  life.  "  Ostriches  !  "  he  said, 
as  he  watched  the  pair  come  slowly  up  and  stop  at 
the  old  tomb.  How  graceful  she  was!  He  knew 
all  her  pretty  poses  by  heart  and  that  day  she  was 
at  her  best.  He  was  just  too  far  away  to  catch  their 
talk,  but  he  could  imagine  it.  All  his  lingering 
doubts  as  to  their  relations  were  now  removed. 
They  loved  each  other,  it  was  clear.  "  He  will  kiss 
her  next !  "  he  thought;  and  then  he  could  endure 
the  sight  no  longer.  He  threw  down  his  crumpled 
paper,  and  went  away  with  one  last  look  at  her  that 
he  remembered  all  his  life.  She  was  half  reclining 
on  the  great  slab  of  marble  to  trace  out  thoughtfully 
its  worn  letters — like  some  sweet,  monumental 
figure  of  antiquity,  for  ever  gentle  and  for  ever 
young !  She  was  at  her  best  that  day ! 

Only  to  get  away  from  people — that  was  his  one 
thought!  And  he  plunged  into  the  back  streets  to 
avoid  an  encounter  with  any  of  his  friends.  His 
home  was  now  at  his  uncle's  house ;  and  at  this 
hour  of  the  day  his  uncle  was  either  riding  or  gos- 
siping at  his  club.  He  would  go  home  then,  and 
have  the  house  to  himself  for  an  hour  or  two  at  least. 

It  was  a  sober  little  house  in  a  retired  place, 
where  every  footfall  echoed  back  from  the  sur- 
rounding walls.  He  let  himself  in  quietly,  and 
rejoiced  to  find  that  he  was  alone.  His  uncle's 
rooms  were  on  the  first  floor,  behind  a  library  that 


SHADOWS  WE  ARE,  SHADOWS  WE  PURSUE' 

opened  directly  from  the  entrance  hall;  this  latter 
was  a  gloomy,  ill-lighted  place,  heavily  wainscoted 
in  walnut,  after  a  former  fashion ;  and  its  tone  of 
depression  was  admirably  seconded  in  the  library 
itself,  where  the  great  black  bookcases  seemed  to 
support  the  cornice,  and  the  furniture  was  covered 
with  dark  leather,  like  the  hangings.  The  careful 
servants,  old  retainers  of  Mr.  Musgrave,  had  drawn 
down  the  shades  in  this  room,  lest  any  stray  sun- 
beams should  venture  to  frolic  on  the  carpet  there; 
but  Jack  did  not  pull  them  up.  All  this  sombreness 
was  grateful  to  him.  He  sat  down  in  the  nearest 
chair,  leaned  forward  upon  the  writing-table,  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  So  he  remained  for 
some  time,  silent  as  the  house  itself,  till  he  was 
roused  a  little  by  a  certain  slight  sound  that  seemed 
to  come  from  the  next  room.  His  uncle  was  at 
home  then.  He  listened;  yes,  he  knew  the  step; 
he  could  hear  it  crossing  and  recrossing  the 
chamber.  Then,  to  Jack's  surprise,  his  uncle,  un- 
conscious of  any  listener,  began  to  sing  softly  to 
himself  the  air  that  intoxicated  all  men  in  the  days 
of  Mr.  Musgrave's  youth — the  Duke's  song  in 
"  Rigoletto  " — "La  donna  e  mobile!'  And  before  Jack 
could  take  himself  off  with  his  despair  to  his  own 
quarters  overhead,  the  chamber  doors  were  flung 
open,  and  Mr.  Musgrave  burst  into  the  room  with 
all  the  afternoon  sunlight  behind  him  and  the  light 
music  on  his  lips. 

He  stopped  in  some  confusion,  breaking  down  in 
the  song. 


224 


KOSES  OF  SHADOW. 


"Why,  Jack!"  he  cried. 

He  was  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  and  held  a  dressing- 
case  in  his  hand.  The  chamber  was  in  disorder; 
papers  and  clothes  were  scattered  about,  and  a  port- 
manteau was  lying  open  on  the  floor. 

Jack,  too,  was  somewhat  confused.  In  the 
half-light  of  the  room  he  looked  paler  than  he 
really  was.  His  uncle  stared  at  him  for  a  mo- 
ment. "  What's  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Are 
you  ill?" 

"111?  No!"  said  Jack,  trying  to  laugh.  "I 
didn't  know  you  were  at  home."  And  he  turned 
away  indifferently. 

"  Don't  go,"  said  Mr.  Musgrave.  "  I  want  to 
talk  to  you.  Come  in  here." 

It  was  a  large,  high  chamber,  meant  for  a  draw- 
ing-room, and  in  spite  of  the  sunshine,  there  was  a 
dismal  air  about  it  that  recalled  one  of  those  awful, 
disused,  royal  bed-chambers  shown  to  the  public 
in  a  foreign  palace.  The  chairs  and  tables  were  of 
a  florid  style  that  has  passed  away,  never  to  be 
revived.  The  huge  bed  had  heavy,  flowered  cur- 
tains hanging  from  a  rococo  garland,  in  tarnished 
gilt,  that  seemed  to  float  in  space  close  under  the 
ceiling.  Perched  over  the  door  was  a  wheezy 
Dutqh  clock,  like  an  overgrown  toad  in  black  and 
gold;  and  in  the  farthest  corner,  behind  the  bed, 
stood  a  worm-eaten  cabinet,  suggestive  of  secret 
drawers.  Jack,  exploring  it  on  the  sly  in  his 
younger  days,  had  been  sure  of  one  at  least,  but 
had  never  found  the  spring. 


SHADOWS  WE  ARE,  SHADOWS  WE  PURSUE!   2->$ 

"  You  are  packing,"  he  said,  as  ho  sat  down  in 
one  of  the  sunny  windows. 

"  Yes,"  replied  his  uncle.  "  I  am  going  to  take  a 
little  journey." 

"  Alone  ?  "  Jack  asked. 

"  It  is  only  for  two  or  three  days,"  said  Mr.  Mus- 
grave,  ignoring  the  question,  and  kneeling  beside 
his  portmanteau.  He  would  have  liked  to  tell 
Jack  everything,  but  did  not  know  how  to  begin. 

"  You  are  just  the  least  bit  shaky,  you  know," 
continued  the  latter.  "  Are  you  really  going  away 
alone  ?  " 

"  Yes — that  is,  no  !  "  returned  the  other,  packing 
now  very  busily.     "  I  have  an  appointment  that  I 
must  keep — a  little  appointment,  and — but  that's 
not  what  I  want  to  talk  about — it's  about  you." 
"  About  me  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Musgrave,  looking  at  him 
intently.  "  You  are  out  of  sorts — I  have  noticed 
it  for  a  long  time.  What  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?  " 

"  Nothing — nothing  at  all." 

"  My  dear  boy,  it  won't  do — I  know  better.  Why 
not  tell  me  ?  Are  you  in  any  scrape  ?  Is  it  any 
money  trouble  ?  " 

"  No — it's  not  that,"  said  Jack,  incautiously. 
"  Ah,  then  there  is  something  !     I  was  sure  of  it 
You  ought  to  tell  me.     I  will  do  everything  in  the 
world  to  help  you." 

There  was  an  unaccustomed  tenderness  in  Mr. 
Musgrave's  voice,  due  not  only  to  his  fondness  for 
15 


226  K OSES  OF  SHAD  O  W. 

the  boy  who  bore  his  name,  but  also  to  a  kind  of 
remorse  at  withholding  his  own  secret.  "  I  will  tell 
him  presently,"  he  thought. 

Jack  deliberated  a  moment,  and  was  lost.  It 
would  be  a  comfort,  after  all,  to  make  a  clean  breast 
of  it. 

"  You  can't  help  me,"  he  said,  "  nobody  can  help 
me.  The  fact  is  I've  made  an  infernal  fool  of  my- 
self for  a  woman — there,  the  murder's  out  now. 
I've  gone  mad  over  her — and  she  has  rejected  me." 

Mr.  Musgrave's  face  flushed.  Here  was  a  new 
difficulty;  it  would  be  harder  to  confess  his  own 
good  fortune  now. 

"  I  see,"  he  said,  gravely.  "  It's  rather  an  awk- 
ward business.  But  then,  it's  a  woman's  no ;  don't 
give  up  too  soon — it  may  mean  yes." 

The  clock  gave  a  little  whirr  and  struck  the  hour. 
How  the  afternoon  was  going !  But  the  portman- 
teau was  nearly  full. 

Jack  rose  and  paced  the  room  despondently. 
"  No,"  he  said,  "  she  has  thrown  me  over.  There's 
another  fellow  at  the  bottom  of  it — my  best  friend, 
I  thought  he  was — a  regular  wolf  in  sheep's  cloth- 
ing !  He  has  played  the  devil  with  me !  " 

"  That's  bad  !  "  said  Mr.  Musgrave,  looking  about 
the  room  thoughtfully.  Then  he  pulled  out  a  key, 
and  going  over  to  the  cabinet  began  to  fumble  at 
the  lock.  "But  are  you  sure  about  it?  "  he  asked. 

"Of  course,"  said  Jack.  "He  is  always  at  her 
heels.  I  followed  them  this  very  afternoon.  They 
are  engaged,  I  know." 


SHADOWS  WE  ARE,  SHADOWS  WE  PURSUE' 

• 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  called  out  his  uncle  from  behind 
the  bed-curtains. 

"  You  know  him.     Marvin, — Gilbert  Mawvin." 

"  That  clumsy  brute — she  prefers  him  to  you  ? 
What  kind  of  woman  can  she  be  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  Jack,  "it  can  do  no  harm  to  tell 
you — " 

"  Confound  this  thing!"  cried  his  uncle,  still  at 
the  cabinet.  There  came  a  kind  of  snap,  and  Jack 
knew  that  the  secret  drawer  had  opened.  He 
heard  a  rustle  of  papers,  and  Mr.  Musgrave  shouted 
back : 

"  Tell  me,  of  course.  I  want  the  whole  story — 
out  with  it !  Who  is  she  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  know  her  too !  My  mother's  gover- 
ness, Miss  Gerard." 

No  answer.     "  Miss  Gerard  !  "  he  repeated. 

Then  a  smothered  groan,  a  heavy  fall.  He 
crossed  the  room  at  a  bound,  and  saw  his  uncle 
lying  flushed  and  speechless  with  distorted  features. 
He  made  a  dash  at  the  bell,  and  rung  it  twice  or 
thrice  so  violently  that  the  cord  broke  in  his  hands. 
The  servants  came  rushing  in  with  frightened  faces ; 
trembling,  they  helped  to  lift  their  master  up  and 
lay  him  gently  on  the  great  bed.  Jack  cut  short 
all  their  questions  and  sent  them  this  way  and 
that.  He  heard  the  hall  door  close  behind  them. 
He  sat  down  by  the  bed  where  his  uncle  lay  under 
the  damask  curtains,  breathing  heavily,  with  half- 
closed  eyes  and  face  drawn  all  awry.  The  house 
was  oppressively  still;  the  clock  slowly  ticked 


228  X  OSES  OF  SHAD  O  W. 

away  the  minutes ;  it  whirred  and  struck  again  dis- 
cordantly. Then  his  uncle's  lips  moved  in  a  faint 
whisper,  indistinct,  unintelligible.  What  was  he 
trying  to  say  ?  Jack  bent  down  and  listened. 
The  sound  came  again — one  word  only,  twice  re- 
peated : 

"  Denise — Denise — " 

Until  that  moment,  Jack  had  found  no  special 
significance  in  Mr.  Musgrave's  sudden  attack. 
What  connection  could  there  be  between  it  and 
his  own  trifling  love  affairs  ?  All  at  once  the  truth 
began  to  dawn  upon  him  dimly.  He  watched 
eagerly,  hoping  for  more  light,  some  clearer  sign. 
But  none  came.  The  sick  man's  breathing  grew 
heavier  and  more  irregular.  There  was  no  further 
effort  at  speech,  no  gleam  of  intelligence  in  his 
eyes.  Jack  left  the  bedside,  and  searched  the  room 
for  a  clue.  He  found  the  half-open  drawer  of 
the  cabinet  and  in  it  only  a  bundle  of  letters.  He 
ran  them  over ;  they  were  all  addressed  to  his  uncle 
in  her  hand ;  one  had  been  taken  from  the  envelope 
and  had  fluttered  down  to  the  floor.  Close  beside 
it  something  glistened — a  plain,  gold  ring.  He 
read  three  lines  of  the  letter,  and  knew  the  secret. 

"  They  were  to  be  married  !  "  he  gasped.  Then 
he  began  to  blame  himself  unjustly.  "  If  I  had 
only  held  my  tongue ! "  he  cried,  bitterly ;  and 
going  back  to  the  bed  he  took  his  uncle's  hand. 
His  own  tears  fell  upon  it,  but  they  brought  no 
sign  of  consciousness  into  the  dark  face,  so  sadly 
changed  that  he  could  not  look  at  it.  "  My  fault — 


SHADOWS  WE  ARE,  SHADOWS  WE  PURSUE!  22Q 

it  is  my  fault!  "  he  said, and  hid  his  face  in  the  cur- 
tains. 

The  silent  minutes  went  on.  "  Will  they  never 
come  ? "  he  thought.  And  then  he  blessed  the 
lucky  chance  that  kept  them  away,  giving  him 
time  to  perform  a  duty  he  had  forgotten.  He 
must  keep  his  uncle's  secret.  No  one  else  must 
ever  know  his  weakness  and  her  treachery.  Very 
quietly  and  quickly  he  destroyed  the  letters,  tossed  the 
ring  into  the  secret  drawer,  locked  the  cabinet  and 
replaced  the  key.  Then  he  watched  and  waited,  with 
thoughts  of  her  that  were  more  cruel  even  than  she 
deserved.  But  a  while  ago  he  had  seen  her  at  her 
best ;  now,  he  thought  the  worst  of  her  that  any 
man  can  think  of  any  woman. 

At  last  his  father  came ;  the  doctors,  too ;  they 
did  all  their  skill  could  do,  but  so  little.  The 
patient  never  spoke  for  all  their  pains.  No  one 
slept  in  the  house  that  night.  But  long  before  the 
morning,  there  had  stolen  into  that  solemn  chamber 
a  presence  that  defied  all  earthly  watchers. 


XV. 

PROGRESS. 

T^XHAUSTED  in  mind  and  body,  and  having 
JC/  told  herself  many  times  that  it  would  be  folly 
to  linger  at  the  station  a  moment  longer,  Miss 
Gerard  at  last  went  back  to  the  hotel  and  passed  a 
sleepless  night  there.  More  than  once,  as  the  hours 
went  on,  she  reviewed  the  events  of  the  last  two 
days,  even  to  the  smallest  detail,  dwelling  long  upon 
Mr.  Musgrave's  suspicion  of  her  at  their  meeting 
by  the  river.  Had  that  suspicion  been  confirmed 
in  some  way  at  the  last  moment  ?  Had  Annette  by 
chance  overheard  their  talk,  and  had  Mrs.  Elliston 
interfered?  Or  had  Marvin  told  his  tale  of  her  double 
dealing?  This  last  might  well  be;  yet  how  could 
Marvin  know  whom  to  take  into  his  confidence? 
How  could  he  dream  that  she  was  anything  to 
Mr.  Musgrave?  Perhaps  the  latter  had  merely 
repented  of  his  hasty  resolution,  overcome  by  his 
old  repugnance  to  the  secret  marriage.  This  was  not 
improbable.  And  perhaps  she  had  misunderstood 
his  directions,  and  had  kept  the  appointment  in  one 
place,  while  he  had  been  keeping  it  in  another.  Here 
there  was  a  grain  of  comfort.  They  might  have  a 
good  laugh  yet  over  some  such  absurd  complication. 
230 


PXOGKESS.  o,» 

^Ol 

She  would  send  a  line  to  his  house  in  the  morning, 
and  know  the  worst  at  all  events.  Why  had  she 
not  done  this  before,  instead  of  waiting  all  that 
dreary  time?  The  thing  now  was  to  sleep.  But 
then  her  tormenting  doubts  would  come  back,  re- 
fusing to  be  quieted  until  she  had  been  over  all  the 
ground  again.  And  so  she  counted  out  the  hours. 

Early  in  the  morning,  she  wrote  a  short  note  in 
pencil  very  cautiously  worded,  and  signed  only  with 
her  initial.  She  took  this  down  stairs  herself  to 
despatch  it  by  some  careful  hand.  It  was  Sunday, 
and  there  was  no  one  stirring  in  the  great  hall  of 
the  hotel.  As  she  crossed  the  marble  pavement,  her 
eyes  fell  upon  the  bulletin  of  a  morning  paper — 
done  in  huge  black  letters  designed  to  startle  and 
allure — that  stared  her  in  the  face.  She  could  read 
it  all  at  a  glance,  but  she  saw  in  it  only  one  line : 
Sudden  Death  of  John  Musgrave !  The  brutal 
advertisement  gave  her  an  explanation  that  was 
simple  enough — so  simple,  in  fact,  that  it  had  never 
crossed  her  mind.  She  need  not  send  the  letter 
nor  any  other  letter  now. 

She  bought  the  paper,  and  went  back  to  her 
room.  A  few  lines  of  fine  print,  after  the  date  of 
his  birth  and  an  estimate  of  his  money-value,  stated 
that  he  was  never  married,  and  that  his  loss  would 
be  sincerely  mourned.  Above,  in  larger  type,  were 
the  meagre  details.  He  had  dropped  dead  in  his 
chamber  while  packing  his  trunk  for  a  journey. 
So  he  meant  to  come  then  !  Apoplexy,  the  doctors 
called  it  They  hinted  at  no  underlying  cause. 


2i  2  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

How  was  she  to  know  of  that  ?     She  never  guessed 
that  she  had  killed  him. 

What  to  do,  what  part  to  play  in  life,  henceforth — 
that  was  the  all-important  question.  She  sat  down 
to  face  it  fairly  and  squarely,  and  she  considered  it 
for  hours.  At  first  many  courses  seemed  open  to 
her ;  but,  one  by  one,  she  rejected  them  all.  She 
could  not  return  to  the  Ellistons  ;  her  letters  to  Mr. 
Musgrave  must  exist  and  would  be  discovered ; 
there  was  Marvin,  too,  who  came  to  the  house — she 
could  never  meet  him  any  more.  She  might  seek 
out  her  father  and  beg  his  forgiveness ;  but  that,  if 
granted,  meant  a  life  of  struggle  and  privation  like 
her  sister's.  No  ;  they  were  better  off  without  her, 
and  she  had  done  with  them.  As  for  drudgery, 
she  was  tired  of  it.  Why  not  let  all  go,  cease 
contending  with  the  other  vipers,  no  longer  gnaw 
like  the  fabled  viper  at  the  file  of  life  ?  Why  not 
destroy  herself?  Here  was  an  issue  to  which  all 
must  come  sooner  or  later  in  one  way  or  another ; 
why  not  choose  her  own  way,  her  own  time  ?  She 
contemplated  this  seriously  and  calmly,  like  some 
Roman  woman  with  drawn  dagger  and  hornbook 
of  philosophy ;  then  she  put  the  thought  away  for 
future  use,  labelled,  as  it  were,  "  Not  yet."  There 
was  another  refuge  toward  which  she  had  been 
drawn  in  times  of  doubt — the  Canadian  convent  of 
Notre  Dame  de  Lorette,  at  Niagara,  where  she  had 
been  sent  to  school.  One  of  the  sisters  had  been 
very  fond  of  her.  Sister  Felicienne!  How  well 
she  remembered  her  gentle  face !  Smooth  and  fair, 


PROGRESS. 

like  Del  Sarto's  "Charity"  in  the  Louvre!  Could 
her  own  face  over  there  in  the  glass,  haggard  and 
worn  as  it  was,  ever  grow  to  look  like  that?  Why 
not?  There  was  infinite  rest  in  the  old  convent 
garden,  with  its  high,  gray  walls.  She  had  tried 
the  world,  and  it  had  played  her  false  at  every  turn. 
She  needed  rest ;  she  would  try  that.  Surely,  no 
plan  was  better,  none  easier  to  pursue. 

Her  mind  was  made  up ;  there  were  few  prepara- 
tions to  occupy  the  remnant  of  the  day  that  seemed 
an  eternity.  She  kept  her  room,  dining  there  alone 
and  restlessly,  eating  little,  eager  to  be  gone.  She 
took  the  night  train,  slept  soundly  and  woke  to  find 
another  day  beginning  and  her  journey  drawing  to 
its  close.  There  was  a  hurried  breakfast  at  a  way 
station ;  then  miles  of  dullness  under  leaden  skies ; 
then  a  city  full  of  spires  and  tall  chimneys,  wkh 
grimy  warehouses  built  along  a  muddy  river.  There 
were  few  passengers ;  no  one  spoke  to  her.  The 
morning  passed,  the  day  grew  brighter ;  and  at  noon, 
just  as  the  train  stopped  at  the  great  suspension 
bridge,  the  sun  burst  through  the  clouds,  shining 
out  gloriously  upon  the  gray  cliffs  against  which 
the  river  went  roaring  and  plunging  away  from  the 
smoother  water  under  the  white  smoke  of  the  falls. 

She  knew  the  ground  here,  every  inch  of  it.  She 
was  very  tired  and  hungry,  and  the  convent  was  a 
long  way  off;  she  would  dine,  rest  a  little,  and  cross 
the  river  in  the  ferry  afterward.  She  went  straight 
to  a  little  German  hotel  that  she  knew  of,  away  from 
the  bustle  of  the  village.  It  was  a  quiet  inn  with  a 


ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

very  home-like  air  about  it.  There  were  flowers  in 
the  windows ;  the  polished  floor  of  the  hall  shone 
like  glass,  and  in  the  little  parlor  a  rosy  maid  was 
at  work  sweeping  the  spotless  carpet  with  tea 
leaves.  She  had  come  to  dinner?  It  would  be 
ready  in  half  an  hour.  The  parlor  was  in  disorder; 
few  guests  arrived  so  late  in  the  season.  She  could 
have  a  room  to  herself  until  dinner-time.  Would 
she  be  so  good  as  to  step  this  way  ?  They  were 
very  civil ;  it  was  a  relief  to  see  their  pleasant, 
foreign  faces ;  still  more  of  a  relief  to  be  left  alone. 

o 

She  sat  down  at  a  window  that  overlooked  a 
small  garden  full  of  scarlet  geraniums  and  mari- 
golds. Its  paths  were  carpeted  with  yellow  maple- 
leaves,  and  a  great  coffee-colored  cat  had  come  out 
there  to  bask  in  the  sun.  Overhead  a  spire  glis- 
tened with  the  greenish-gold  lacquer  peculiar  to 
that  region ;  and  between  the  maples  the  American 
Rapid  splashed  along  in  broken  ridges.  Not  a 
human  creature  was  in  sight,  and  there  were  no 
sounds  but  the  rushing  of  the  river  and  the  more 
distant  rumble  of  the  falls.  Yes,  she  had  done 
wisely.  This  was  the  place  for  her.  Only  to  look 
out  of  that  window  was  to  rest.  Here,  away  from 
the  world  of  cities,  with  such  surroundings,  peace 
must  come  at  last. 

Some  one  knocked  at  the  door.  Dinner  was 
ready.  And  such  a  dinner !  What  tempting  dishes 
were  served  at  it !  How  clear  the  glass,  how  fresh 
the  linen  !  She  sat  near  one  end  of  a  long  table  at 
which  there  were  many  vacant  places.  A  priest 


PROGRESS. 

came  in,  and  a  young  student — both  well-known  in 
the  house,  evidently ;  and  two  or  three  elderly 
women,  who  seemed  to  be  traveling  alone  like  her- 
self. These  were  all  the  guests,  except  a  queer 
bridal  party  that  had  taken  possession  of  the  other 
end  of  the  room.  They  were  Germans,  attended  by 
the  bride's  sister,  and  by  their  pastor  and  his  wife. 
The  bride  was  a  girl  of  twenty,  very  slender  and 
graceful,  blonde  and  beautiful-;  the  groom,  a  rich 
brewer  from  the  next  town,  was  a  man  of  fifty, 
rough,  noisy  and  very  red  in  the  face.  These 
people  made  merry  in  the  manner  of  their  nation, 
pronouncing  strange  spells  and  clinking  high  in  air 
their  yellow  glasses ;  and  after  dinner,  when  Miss 
Gerard  had  returned  to  her  quiet  window,  she  could 
watch  them  as  they  drove  away  in  their  barouche, 
to  the  box  of  which  the  pastor  mounted,  taking  his 
place  beside  the  coachman.  They  laughed  and 
waved  the  landlord  their  farewells ;  and  when  she 
saw  this,  the  tears  came — the  first  she  had  shed  for 
the  other  life  she  was  leaving.  How  silly  it  was  ! 
The  past  was  past,  no  tears  could  save  it.  Ar.  she 
drew  out  her  handkerchief  something  fell  from  her 
pocket.  A  glove !  Ah,  yes,  his  glove  dropped  in 
that  hurried  leave-taking  three  days  ago.  Poor 
empty  glove  !  She  smoothed  it  out  thoughtfully, 
but  it  was  not  altogether  of  him  that  she  thought. 
She  called  for  pen  and  ink,  and,  instead  of  a  letter, 
wrote  a  single  line — "Sans  vie,  sans  amour" — 
addressing  it  to  Marvin.  "  He  will  understand  that," 
she  thought ;  "  I  want  him  to  know  that  I  have 


ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

failed  in  everything."     It  was  her  only  farewell  to 
the  world. 

She  went  out  into  the  village  to  post  this  message 
herself,  and  the  splendid  sunshine  tempted  her  to 
go  on  as  far  as  the  river  shore,  and  finally  over  the 
bridge  to  Goat  Island.  She  had  but  one  short  stage 
of  her  journey  left  to  make,  with  the  whole  after- 
noon before  her.  The  walk  was  enchanting.  The 
air  was  clear  and  fresh  with  just  a  touch  of  frost  in 
it,  cool  in  the  shadow,  but  very  warm  in  the  sun.  In 
a  little  patch  of  garden  before  the  one  house  upon 
the  island,  the  clumps  of  crimson  and  yellow  dahlias 
had  just  reached  perfection.  A  collie  dog  had 
stretched  himself  out  in  the  porch.  Near  by,  stood 
a  middle-aged  woman  picking  grapes  from  a  trellis. 
She  had  in  her  face  that  same  placid,  saint-like 
expression — the  look  of  Sister  Felicienne.  "  It  is 
the  place,"  thought  Miss  Gerard,  and  she  longed  to 
talk  with  her.  But  the  woman  looked  at  her  shyly 
and  did  not  speak.  She  walked  on.  The  sumachs 
were  blood-red,  the  maples  were  pink  and  gold  ;  at 
her  feet  the  ground  was  purple  with  great  beds  of 
wild  asters.  The  little  wood-paths  running  off  into 
the  wilderness  were  ankle-deep  with  fallen  leaves, 
through  which  the  squirrels  scurried  away  at  the 
sound  of  her  step.  She  met  no  one.  The  rush  of 
summer  travel  was  over;  the  world  and  his  wife 
had  taken  themselves  off,  and  the  wonderful  island 
in  all  its  tangled  beauty  was  hers  to  enjoy  alone. 
All  around  her,  through  the  flickering  leaves,  the 
rapids  leaped  and  shone  and  sung  to  the  eternal 


PROGRESS. 

drum,  drum,  drum  of  the  cataract  that  thrilled  her 
with  its  invisible  presence.  All  that  she  could  see 
delighted  and  exhilarated  her.  She  gave  herself  up 
to  this  mysterious  charm,  lingering  at  every  turn  to 
draw  long  breaths,  and  to  study  the  book  that  is 
open  to  all  men,  that  no  man  ever  learns.  There 
was  an  old  tree  cut  all  over  with  names  and  dates, — 
long-forgotten  challenges  to  Time,  some  of  them 
already  blotted  out  by  his  reproving  fingers.  One 
name,  high  above  the  others,  interested  her.  "  Ken- 
yon  1821."  A  good  name,  an  uncommon  one;  she 
remembered  it  in  an  old  romance  of  Hawthorne. 
Perhaps  he  had  first  seen  it  there,  and  had  stopped 
in  that  very  place  to  write  it  down.  "1821."  It 
must  have  been  deeply  cut  to  endure  so  long.  She 
wondered  if  Kenyon  were  still  living  and  who  he  was. 
She  wandered  down  to  a  reedy  spot  on  the 
shore,  where  the  rapid,  none  the  less  swift  for  being 
shallow,  went  gliding  along  with  hardly  a  ripple. 
For  some  time  she  watched  its  glassy  surface  and 
the  smooth  pebbles  lying  there  just  out  of  reach  ; 
then,  turning  away,  she  stumbled  and  almost  fell 
over  a  rock  half  hidden  in  the  yellow  grass.  Her 
eyes  caught  some  lettering  upon  the  stone,  and  she 
knelt  down  to  read  it.  Many  winters  had  dealt 
rudely  with  it — it  was  almost  gone.  There  was  no 
name;  no  date;  but  at  last  she  made  out  these 
words : 

ALL    IS    CHANGE 

ETERNAL  PROGRESS 

NO    DEATH 


238 


ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 


She  pondered  long  over  this  strange  inscription. 
She  had  never  heard  of  it  before.  Whose  work 
was  it  ?  The  old  story  of  the  hermit  of  the  falls 
came  back  to  her;  if  that  were  true,  he  had  built 
his  rough  shelter  within  a  stone's  throw;  and  but  a 
few  yards  off  he  had  gone  to  his  death  in  the  river, 
under  the  American  Fall.  Had  he  carved  here  at 
his  own  gravestone  ?  Or  had  some  hermit  of  a 
day,  like  this  of  hers,  devoted  himself  to  this 
memorial?  No;  the  man  who  did  that  knew 
the  ground  well,  and  loved  it  as  one  loves  a  dear 
relation.  The  words  would  not  go  from  her  mind. 
"  Eternal  Progress  ! "  The  whole  spirit  of  the 
place  was  there. 

She  followed  the  path  again  to  the  outer  shore 
of  the  island,  till  far  off  upon  the  Canadian  side  the 
familiar  lines  of  the  convent  came  out  against  the 
sky.  At  last  she  stood  in  sight  of  home,  yet  parted 
from  it  by  the  wide  river  at  its  fiercest  point — by 
that  scene  which  is  the  despair  of  all  who  try  to 
paint  it,  either  in  colors  or  in  words.  There  was 
the  broken  verge  of  the  great  Horseshoe,  along 
which  the  water  waited,  as  if  in  wonder  at  its  own 
recklessness,  with  the  shining  stretch  of  unbroken 
green  in  it,  down  which  nothing  seemed  to  move. 
There,  too,  almost  in  the  centre  of  the  fall,  and  on 
its  very  edge,  was  the  flat  rock  that  the  water  never 
covers,  even  for  an  instant.  As  a  child,  she  had  often 
longed  for  the  power  to  stand  there  and  look  down. 
She  had  known  the  Horseshoe  well,  but  never  well 
enough.  For  the  greater  fall,  unlike  its  American 


PROGRESS. 

fellow,  permits  no  one  to  enter  upon  intimate  rela- 
tions with  it,  but  holds  itself  aloof,  as  Jove  did 
from  Semele.  From  many  points  upon  the  shore 
it  is  possible  to  get  glimpses  of  its  far-off  grandeur. 
At  either  end  one  may  draw  nearer,  and  lose  one 
half  of  it  in  peering  over  at  the  other.  But  no 
man  has  ever  seen  it  all  and  lived. 

Leaving  behind  her  all  this  tumult  of  the  waters, 
Miss  Gerard  turned  off  into  the  quiet  woods,  among 
the  startled  squirrels,  through  the  thickly-strewn 
leaves,  and  over  mossy  logs  that  crumbled  when 
she  stepped  upon  them.  Here,  there  were  no  paths ; 
but  she  pushed  on,  until  she  came  out  upon  another 
shore,  at  the  southern  end  of  the  island.  Here,  a 
triangular  shoal  stretches  away  for  a  long  distance, 
to  a  vanishing  point  where  the  river  divides  into 
two  branches  that  form  the  American  and  Canadian 
Rapids,  between  which  Goat  Island  lies.  This 
reach  of  still  water,  hardly  three  feet  in  depth,  is 
smooth  as  the  water  of  a  lake — so  smooth,  that  on 
that  day  it  only  lapped  gently  the  grassy  bank 
upon  which  Miss  Gerard  sat  down  to  rest.  There 
was  little  here  to  attract  the  eye  or  to  divert  the 
mind.  It  was  a  quiet  nook,  where  one  might  easily 
drowse  away  an  hour  in  a  waking  dream.  And 
before  long,  such  a  dream  began  to  steal  in  upon 
Miss  Gerard — a  dream  of  her  past  life,  in  which, 
one  by  one,  came  trooping  back,  unbidden,  a  host 
of  recollections.  Some  sad,  some  bright;  all  its 
great  events,  and  others  so  slight  that  they  had 
been  long  forgotten.  She  recalled  the  old  Canadian 

o  o 


ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

city  of  her  birth,  with  its  tall  spires  and  its  narrow 
streets,  its  busy  docks  and  dingy  warehouses;  the 
dismal  counting-room,  where  her  father,  burdened 
with  a  family  and  with  the  soul  of  a  sculptor  in 
him,  had  been  forced  to  add  up  columns  of  figures 
for  his  daily  bread.  He  could  never  earn  much 
more,  poor  man ;  he  was  not  a  good  accountant, 
they  told  him ;  no  wonder  that  he  was  generally 
gloomy  and  sometimes  ill-tempered.  Her  mother 
had  died  while  she  was  still  a  child ;  but  she  re- 
membered perfectly  the  weak,  pretty  woman,  who 
had  been  an  actress  of  great  promise.  Cut  off 
from  this  career  by  a  terrible  fever,  she  had  been 
left  to  recline  through  the  rest  of  her  short  life,  and 
to  so  pet  and  spoil  Denise,  that  her  husband  on  this 
account  had  been  moved  to  many  an  angry  remon- 
strance. The  moment  his  back  was  turned  she 
would  kiss  the  child  and  tell  her  that  she  was  grow- 
ing more  beautiful  every  day,  and  that  she  must  live 
to  marry  a  lord,  and  sit  beside  him  in  a  coach-and- 
four.  "  And  shall  I  have  a  silk  dress  then  ?  "  Denise 
had  asked,  after  one  of  these  scenes.  "  Yes,  my 
darling,  and  jewels  like  these.  A  duke  gave  them 
to  me."  Whereupon,  her  mother  had  shown  her  a 
sapphire  cross  that  she  wore  about  her  neck, 
always  hidden  away.  "  Oh,  let  me  have  it!  "  Denise 
had  cried.  And  then  she  had  been  permitted  to 
keep  it  and  admire  it  for  one  whole  day.  Long 
after  her  mother's  death,  the  cross  had  been  shown 
to  her  again.  Her  father  had  taken  it  from  his  desk, 
and  had  called  her  to  him.  "  Denise,  look  at  this; 


PROGRESS.  24I 

it  belonged  to  your  mother.  I  will  give  it  to  you 
on  your  wedding  day,  if  it  is  not  turned  into  money 
long  before  that  time."  How  his  lips  had  quivered  ! 

"  Are  we  poor  ?  "  she  had  asked. 

"  Yes,  child,  we  are  poor — very  poor  indeed." 

After  this,  fortune  had  smiled  upon  her  for  a 
year  or  two.  An  old  friend  of  her  father  stepped 
in  and  sent  her  to  the  convent-school.  She  was 
fond  of  books,  learned  easily ;  and  her  pretty  ways 
made  her  at  first  a  general  favorite.  But  she  was 
wilful  and  obstinate ;  and  as  time  went  on  her 
vanity  and  selfishness  became  ungovernable.  She 
grew  envious  of  the  rich  girls  who  had  fine  dresses, 
and  were  always  getting  presents  from  home. 
Nothing  ever  came  for  her.  This  tone  of  discon- 
tent gradually  turned  them  against  her ;  till  Sister 
Felicienne  was  at  last  her  only  friend.  Even  she 
lost  her  patience  at  times.  "You  must  learn  to 
conquer  yourself,"  she  would  say ;  "  no  one  else 
can  do  it ;  you  are  your  own  enemy."  And  Denise 
had  her  excuse — that  ready  one  of  selfishness.  "  I 
can't  help  it ;  I  was  born  so,"  she  always  replied. 

One  day,  just  before  the  time  for  her  return 
to  the  home  that  she  dreaded  to  see  again,  two 
strangers  paid  a  visit  to  the  convent  and  the  school. 
Such  visitors  were  not  uncommon ;  but  these  peo- 
ple, a  man  and  his  wife  beyond  middle  age,  strangely 
attracted  Denise,  who  as  it  chanced  went  about 
with  them  ;  perhaps,  because  she  saw  at  once  that 
they  were  rich.  The  man  was  over  dressed ;  the 
woman's  fingers  were  covered  with  rings ;  but  in 
16 


242 


J?OS£S  OF  SHADOW. 


her  eyes  they  were  types  of  elegance  and  ease — 
like  the  high-bred  courtier  people  that  she  knew  in 
books.  They,  too,  fancied  her,  it  seemed ;  for  she 
heard  them  whispering  about  her  with  the  sisters, 
when  her  back  was  turned.  But  they  went  away, 
and  nothing  came  of  it.  Till  one  day  after  her  re- 
turn home,  when  she  was  moping  out  a  dull  morn- 
ing with  hopeless  forecastings  of  her  future,  they 
suddenly  flashed  in  upon  her,  and  carried  her  off  to 
lunch  with  them  at  their  hotel.  Then  they  unfolded 
a  scheme  that  amazed  and  delighted  her.  They 
were  going  abroad ;  they  had  no  children ;  the 
languid  lady  needed  a  companion ;  the  duties 
would  be  very  light ;  would  she  accept  the  place, 
travel  with  them,  speak  the  languages  for  them — 
in  short,  make  their  home  hers  indefinitely  ?  She 
lost  no  time  in  taking  them  at  their  word.  If  her 
father  would  only  consent !  Her  new  friends  made 
light  of  this  doubt,  promised  to  call  upon  him,  and 
did  so  the  next  day  with  much  ceremony.  To 
their  surprise  and  his  daughter's  sorrow,  he  hesitated, 
took  time  to  consider,  and  his  final  answer  was  a 
curt  refusal.  To  Denise,  who  was  heart-broken,  he 
gave  his  reasons.  He  did  not  like  these  people,  he 
could  learn  no  good  of  them.  On  the  contrary,  he 
knew  they  were  not  of  the  right  sort.  He  would 
never  trust  his  child  to  their  keeping.  Moreover, 
he  had  been  very  ill — he  was  still  far  from  strong. 
There  was  her  sister,  too  young  to  be  left  to  herself. 
He  could  not  send  her  to  school.  Denise  must  take 
care  of  her  and  of  him.  It  was  her  duty.  Then 


PROGRESS. 

she  implored  and  insisted  until  he  grew  very  angry. 
The  scene  ended,  on  his  part,  with  a  positive  com- 
mand to  her  never  to  see  the  purse-proud  schemers 
again  ;  and  on  her  part,  with  a  storm  of  tears. 

His  command  she  disobeyed.  She  saw  her  dis- 
comfited patrons  again  and  again.  They  comforted 
and  coaxed  her  treacherously.  She  was  old  enough 
to  know  her  own  mind ;  her  father  would  change 
his.  She  wanted  to  go,  she  must  go  ;  all  would  be 
well  in  the  end.  And  in  the  end  they  enticed  her 
away.  She  left  her  father's  house  secretly  in  the 
night,  went  with  her  companions  on  board  the 
nearest  steamer,  and  the  next  day  was  far  out  at  sea. 
Nor  was  this  all.  That  the  finishing  touch  might 
not  be  wanting  to  her  misconduct,  before  going  she 
broke  open  her  father's  desk,  and  took  from  it  the 
precious,  jewelled  cross,  wearing  it  away  upon  the 
same  faded  ribbon  that  her  mother  had  flung 
round  her  neck  when  she  was  a  child.  "  He  told 
me  I  should  have  it  some  day,"  she  said  to  her 
conscience.  "  Let  me  take  it  now,  or  he  will  turn 
it  into  money."  The  explanation  of  her  flight  she 
left  to  the  strangers,  who  sent  in  their  letter  to  her 
father  a  cheque  for  so  large  a  sum  that  it  seemed, 
in  itself,  all  in  proof  of  their  goodness  of  heart  that 
the  most  exacting  parent  could  demand. 

But  the  cheque  followed  them  out  by  the  next 
mail  in  a  furious  letter  to  Denise.  He  ignored  her 
benefactors.  "  Did  you  think  you  were  worth  so 
much?"  he  asked.  "You  have  behaved  brutally 
and  I  have  done  with  you.  You  are  not  my  daugh- 


ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

ter.  Never  let  me  hear  of  you  again."  It  was  a 
dreadful  letter.  She  assured  herself  that  she  did 
not  deserve  it ;  but  she  shook  her  head  when  they 
told  her  he  had  not  meant  half  that  was  written  in 
those  hasty  words. 

Later,  came  a  piteous  letter  from  her  sister.  Their 
father  had  been  ill  again,  and  was  still  unable  to 
work.  It  was  hard  to  know  how  they  were  to  live. 
Would  she  not  come  home  ?  She  was  always  in 
their  thoughts.  If  only  she  had  kept  the  cross  and 
would  send  it  back.  It  was  that  which  had  turned 
her  father  so  against  her.  Did  she  know  what  he 
said  of  her  ?  That  he  called  her  wicked  and  un- 
grateful ? 

Under  this  last  word  was  something  else  that  had 
been  erased.  Only  the  faintest  lines  were  left,  but 
Denise  made  them  out.  "  A  thief."  It  was  that  he 
really  called  her.  A  harsh  word,  but  a  true  one  never- 
theless !  She  admitted  it.  But  she  never  answered 
the  letter.  "  It  is  too  late  now,"  she  said ;  "  I  am 
better  off  without  them,  and  they  can  live  without 
me ;  some  one  will  take  care  of  that.  They  will 
never  starve  ;  nobody  starves  now-a-days." 

So  she  stifled  the  spark  of  conscience  that  was 
left  to  her,  and  went  on  through  the  picture  galleries, 
leading  that  easy,  foreign  life  for  which  she  was  so 
admirably  fitted,  happy  without  responsibilities,  cul- 
tivating herself  and  growing  every  day  more  selfish 
in  the  process.  She  resembled  in  this  the  soft, 
white  stone  that  the  French  builders  cut  like  clay 
after  they  have  placed  it  in  position,  and  that 


PROGRESS.  2.r 

before  long  hardens  into  flint,  growing  darker  and 
darker  in  the  sunlight.  She  told  herself  often  that 
this  was  a  dream  too  bright  to  last ;  and  all  at  once 
there  came  a  rude  awakening.  It  was  one  summer 
night  on  the  shore  of  the  Lake  of  Geneva,  in  a 
garden  at  Ouchy.  The  man,  old  enough  to  be  her 
father,  who  should  have  been  her  protector,  sud- 
denly turned  upon  her  with  insult,  catching  her  by 
the  wrist,  making  fierce  love  to  her,  swearing  that 
he  was  ready  to  sacrifice  wife,  reputation,  everything, 
if  she  would  say  the  word.  Poor  and  mean  as  she 
had  grown,  she  had  still  the  saving  grace  to  be 
overcome  with  horror.  She  broke  from  him, 
rushed  to  the  station,  and  an  hour  after  found  her- 
self alone  in  Geneva,  without  money,  without  friends. 
At  a  hotel  where  she  was  known,  she  told  a  plausi- 
ble story  and  found  a  lodging.  There  she  made 
her  plans.  She  would  join  a  party  of  Americans, 
chance  acquaintances  of  travel,  who  had  been  kind 
to  her ;  tell  them  this  chapter  of  her  history,  and 
make  a  fresh  start.  But  they  were  a  long  way  off", 
traveling  for  dear  life  in  the  Netherlands.  To 
follow  them  there  she  must  have  money.  Well ! 
•Her  mother's  cross  was  still  about  her  neck !  She 
sold  it  the  next  morning  to  one  of  the  jewelers  on 
the  Grand  Quai.  The  man  was  honest ;  she  was 
startled  by  the  sum  he  paid  her,  and  she  remem- 
bered then  her  mother's  words — "  a  duke  gave  it  to 
me."  Had  her  father  known  its  value,  she  wondered  ? 
She,  herself,  had  never  realized  it. 

Her  new  friends,  who  were  plain,  warm-hearted 


246  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

people,  received  her  kindly  and  brought  her  back 
with  them  to  America.  Afterward,  they  helped  to 
find  her  a  situation  as  governess.  From  that  time 
until  her  coming  to  the  Ellistons,  she  led  a  life  of 
routine,  dull  and  commonplace  enough.  But  she 
assumed  its  burdens  cheerfully,  as  she  would  have 
welcomed  any  manner  of  hard  work  that  could  lead 
her  to  forget  certain  passages  of  the  past  that 
haunted  her.  In  time  she  did  forget  them,  or  re- 
member them  vaguely  as  misfortunes  that  had 
befallen  her  through  no  fault  of  hers.  The  old 
formula  never  failed  her.  "  I  could  not  help  it," 
she  said,  and  remorse  fought  against  it  in  vain. 

To-day,  all  these  forgotten  things  came  back  with 
strange  vividness,  as  she  sat  alone  in  sight  of  the 
very  spot  where  her  career  of  ingratitude  had  begun. 
An  hour  passed  and  left  her  still  absorbed,  strug- 
gling against  herself  in  her  own  defence,  this  time 
with  indifferent  success.  At  last  she  forced  herself 
to  think  of  other  things.  She  looked  out  over  the 
quiet  shoal  to  the  point  beyond  it,  where  the  rapid 
changed  its  course  and  broke  into  two  streams; 
beyond  that  still  to  the  distant  river,  that  looked  as 
calm  as  the  water  at  her  feet.  She  could  see  the 
white  sail  of  a  boat  there  miles  away.  She  wondered 
how  near  the  rapid  it  would  be  safe  for  the  boat  to 
come.  What  if  it  should  venture  too  near  and  be 
drawn  down  beyond  the  reach  of  help  ?  It  would 
not  take  long.  From  that  place  to  the  great  fall 
could  hardly  be  a  minute's  journey — by  the  river. 

The   shadows  were  growing   longer.     Just  one 


PROGRESS.  ~A- 

247 

look  at  another  place  close  by,  and  she  would  turn 
back  to  the  hotel,  and  then  to  the  ferry.  It  was 
time  to  go  on. 

Stretching  from  the  south  shore  of  Goat  Island 
straight  out  into  the  heart  of  the  boiling  rapid  are 
three  wonders  of  Niagara,  that  till  lately  were  inac- 
cessible,— three  featheiy  islands,  known  as  the 
Three  Sisters,  separated  from  their  huge  brother  by 
three  chasms,  over  which  light  bridges  have  been 
thrown.  Through  these  channels,  that  it  is  always 
wearing  deeper,  the  river  plunges  in  three  sister 
torrents,  all  beautiful,  yet  resembling  each  other  only 
faintly  as  sisters  are  wont  to  do.  The  first  stream, 
that  falls  over  its  black  rocks  like  a  net-work  of 
jewels,  is  comparatively  shallow,  yet  it  would  be 
unsafe  to  set  foot  in  it.  The  first  island,  like  the 
others,  is  a  jungle  of  pine  and  birch  and  swamp- 
maple,  struggling  up  between  mossy  rocks  and  the 
decayed  stumps  of  older  growth.  Miss  Gerard  did 
not  wait  here  long,  for  just  at  the  end  of  the  bridge 
she  found  an  artist  sketching.  She  remembered 
his  face  at  the  hotel,  and  perhaps  he  remembered 
hers,  for  he  eyed  it  curiously  over  his  easel.  She  went 
on  over  the  second  torrent,  which  breaks  into  a  bar 
of  foam  above  the  bridge  and  tumbles  all  in  a  heap 
below.  Queer  little  bits  of  rainbow  play  about  the 
foaming  places,  but  if  looked  for  twice  are  not  to  be 
found.  She  watched  for  them  a  moment  or  two, 
and  then  followed  the  path  along  over  the  middle 
isle  to  its  farther  shore,  where  some  wooden  steps 
lead  down  to  the  rocks  below  the  last  bridge.  She 


248  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

was  well  out  into  the  river,  and  this  was  the  point 
she  wanted.  Here  she  seated  herself  close  upon  the 
brink  of  the  third  torrent,  which  is  deeper  and  wider 
and  wilder  than  the  others.  As  she  looked  up  at 
it,  the  water  formed  for  her  its  broken  horizon  line 
against  the  sky,  and  seemed  to  come  tearing  down 
out  of  the  blue  distance,  as  if  all  the  evil  spirits  of 
Baron  Fouque  were  struggling  and  snarling  in  it 
for  the  mastery.  It  was  of  all  colors  from  bottle- 
green  to  black ;  and,  at  its  lowest  point,  the  water 
was  lashed  into  showers  of  drops,  tossed  high  into  the 
air  and  glittering  like  bits  of  ice.  The  gulf  is  perhaps 
thirty  yards  in  width,  and  beyond  it  lies  the  narrow 
strip  of  the  outer  island ;  beyond  that,  the  great 
Canadian  Rapid  stretches  away  like  the  sea,  but 
more  terrible  than  the  sea,  because  of  its  reckless 
onward  movement  that  never  slackens,  that  no 
human  force  can  stem  or  resist  even  for  a  single 
instant.  Far  out  in  this  fearful  current,  a  great, 
broken  globe  of  foam  rises  and  falls  incessantly 
above  the  highest  waves.  This  column  of  water, 
which  has  been  named  the  Leaping  Rock,  seems  to 
nod  and  beckon  with  uncouth  gestures,  as  though 
there  were  life  imprisoned  in  it.  To  Miss  Gerard, 
in  childhood,  it  had  been  the  embodiment  of  Kiihle- 
born,  the  evil  genius  of  the  story  of  Undine.  She 
had  watched  it  often  from  her  window  ;  it  had  been 
a  real  thing  to  her  then,  and  she  half  believed  that 
its  frantic  motions  had  some  hidden  meaning  in| 
them  that  could  be  learned.  To-day,  she  looked  at 
it  again  and  shuddered. 


PROGRESS.  249 

All  around  her  the  noise  was  deafening.  The 
water  at  her  feet  was  of  the  purest  green,  so  beautiful 
that  it  was  hard  to  believe  death  lurked  in  it.  Down 
the  river,  a  few  hundred  yards  to  the  north,  this 
same  color  repeated  itself  in  a  clear,  glassy  line — 
the  brink  of  the  Horseshoe — where  all  this  rush 
and  roar  of  water  seemed  to  end  quietly  without  a 
murmur  or  a  ripple.  And  the  convent  had  come  in 
sight  again  ;  it  made  a  dark  blot  there  on  the  western 
sky.  That  was  her  goal.  It  looked  not  unlike  a 
prison.  It  was  a  grim  rest,  after  all,  that  awaited 
her  behind  those  stone  walls.  Was  it  worth  while 
to  come  so  far  and  gain  so  little  ?  She  shook  her 
head,  and  sighed. 

Then  the  past  came  rushing  back  with  all  its 
bitter  memories,  its  charges  that  she  knew  were 
just.  They  could  not  be  denied,  they  would  not  be 
forgotten.  The  cross !  Ah,  the  cross  !  If  she  had 
only  not  stolen  it ;  if,  having  stolen  it,  she  had  only 
sent  it  back  in  answer  to  her  sister's  letter!  And 
her  course  with  Mr.  Musgrave — how  she  had  de- 
ceived him  !  She  had  been  false  as  the  water  there 
— as  cold  and  cruel  and  heartless  as  that  smiling 
rapid.  How  she  had  lied  over  and  over  again  to 
him  and  to  Gilbert  Marvin!  Marvin!  Ah,  there 
was  a  despairing  thought !  She  had  been  so  near 
to  real  happiness.  In  another  moment  she  believed 
he  would  have  spoken.  Then  all  these  wrongs 
might  have  been  set  right.  Her  love  for  him  was 
so  far  above  all  other  influences  she  had  ever 
known,  that  in  time  it  must  have  changed  her 


250  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

nature,  and  given  her  the  power  to  make  atonement 
for  every  sin  she  had  committed.  How,  she  did  not 
know ;  but  in  that  way  peace  of  mind  would  have 
surely  come.  And  now  she  had  shut  the  door 
upon  the  world.  Well,  it  had  treated  her  harshly. 
Why  had  she  been  made  to  suffer  and  endure  so 
much  ?  She  had  not  asked  for  life — it  was  all  a 
mistake ;  and  yet,  perhaps,  she  had  fifty  years  to 
live. 

A  white  sea-gull  soared  along  overhead.  How 
strange  to  see  him  there  so  far  from  home !  She 
watched  him  as  he  flew  northward  toward  Lake 
Ontario.  "  He  will  drop  down  there,"  she  thought, 
"  upon  some  gentle  wave,  fold  his  wings  and  rest." 
And  for  her  there  was  no  rest.  She  could  never 
stay  in  the  convent.  While  life  lasted,  through  all 
those  fifty  years,  the  eternal  struggle  must  go  on. 
She  was  like  the  rapid. 

She  looked  down  at  it;  the  spray  was  flying  over 
her,  the  water  was  within  reach  of  her  hand.  She 
knew  every  turn  of  it  well.  It  had  a  dreadful  beauty, 
like  that  of  Medusa  and  the  Sirens  ;  their  danger, 
too.  To  watch  and  listen  there  gave  one  a  longing 
to  leap  into  it.  It  held  her  now  with  an  impression 
of  enchanting  loveliness,  of  power  and  of  cruelty. 
It  was  merciless,  irresistible. 

"  Sans  vie,  sans  amour ! "  Yes,  she  was  like  the 
rapid.  Then,  why  not  one  with  it  ?  Why  not  yield 
to  this  new  impulse,  make  the  plunge,  and  become 
a  part  of  that  inexorable  force  that  seemed  to  draw 
her  down  ?  One  little  moment  would  spare  her  all 


PROGRESS.  251 

the  weariness  of  living.  "  It  is  only  putting  one's 
foot  into  cold  water,"  she  thought.  She  caught  up 
a  twig  and  tossed  it  into  the  foam.  "  Just  there — it 
would  be  just  there!"  she  said  aloud;  and  before 
she  spoke,  the  twig  was  out  of  sight. 

An  old  tree  grew  on  the  very  edge,  throwing  one 
great  lower  limb  out  over  the  water.  She  leaped 
up  and  ran  along  it,  ready  to  throw  herself  head- 
long. She  waited  a  second  too  long  and  could  not 
do  it.  "  No,  I  dare  not,"  she  cried  ;  "  I  am  not  fit 
to  die  so.  I  must  live — live  and  pray ! "  She 
started  back  along  the  branch  ;  there  came  a  crash, 
and  she  knew  that  it  had  broken.  Then,  with  a 
wild  shriek  that  her  own  ears  hardly  caught  above 
the  mocking  uproar  that  surrounded  her,  she  fell 
through  the  shining  water-drops, — and  was  gone. 

They  never  found  her.  Hours  afterward,  when 
she  was  missed,  the  artist  remembered  that  she  had 
passed  him  on  the  way  to  the  outer  islands,  and  that 
he  had  not  noticed  her  return.  A  search  revealed 
the  broken  branch  and  a  footprint  ortwo,  from  which 
her  death  and  the  manner  of  it  were  surmised.  The 
story  passed  into  the  folk-lore  of  the  place ;  and  to 
this  day  the  queer,  amphibious  guides  to  the  ledge 
below  the  Horseshoe  whisper  of  a  sunless  cavern, 
where  her  bones  are  said  to  lie  with  the  water  drip- 
ping over  them,  turned  into  stone  so  hard  that  not 
Niagara  itself  can  ever  soften  it  or  wear  it  away. 
And  on  through  all  the  years  go  those  foaming 
ridges,  howling  like  fiends,  lashing  the  dark  cliffs, 


252 


XOSES  OF  SHADOW. 


sweeping  round  the  great  whirlpool  and  still  press- 
ing forward  in  eternal  progress. 

Eternal  Progress  !  Yes.  But  it  leads  on  through 
an  Eternal  Peace  in  the  depths  of  the  great  lake, 
where  the  white-winged  sea-gull  settled  down.  And 
the  waters  there  are  as  blue  as  the  wide  arch  of 
Heaven. 


XVI. 

"  EPPUR    SI    MUOVE." 

may  outrun  the  swiftest  river,  or  it  may 
1  drag  heavily  one  foot  behind  the  other,  as  on 
leaden  shoes.  It  ambles,  trots,  gallops  or  stands 
still  here  with  us  to-day,  as  of  old  in  the  forest  of 
Arden.  And  so,  in  divers  paces,  with  the  divers 
persons  of  the  story,  there  traveled  on  more  than 
six  months  of  which  but  the  briefest  chronicle 
needs  to  be  set  down.  With  Marvin  it  did  not 
trot,  but  went,  nevertheless,  at  "  a  fine  easy  amble." 
This,  thanks  to  many  things.  First  of  all,  work  ; 
which  may  be  said  to  rank,  as  a  consoler,  second 
only  to  sovereign  Time  himself.  His  mistress,  the 
Law,  proved  exacting,  and  he  did  his  best  to  please 
her.  Of  course,  he  was  among  the  first  to  know 
that  Ambrose  and  Miss  Bromfield  had  broken  their 
engagement.  That  subject  was  discussed  freely  in 
quiet  corners  at  the  "  ^gean "  for  nearly  a  week. 
The  very  day  he  heard  of  it  came  the  unsigned 
message  from  Niagara.  But  Miss  Gerard  had 
taken  far  too  much  for  granted  in  believing  that  he 
would  at  once  grasp  its  meaning.  On  the  con- 
trary, a  glance  at  the  post-mark  led  him  to  a  strange 
misinterpretation.  "  I  see,"  he  said  ;  "  she  is  on 

253 


254 


KOSES  OF  SHADOW. 


her  wedding  journey.  '  Sans  vie,  sans  amour ; '  it 
means  that  she  has  sold  herself  to  old  Croesus, 
whoever  he  may  be.  Well,  I  am  sorry  for  him." 
And  he  destroyed  the  letter,  contemptuously.  He 
heard  nothing  of  her  death,  as  it  happened,  until 
long  afterward.  Then,  believing  that  she  had  vol- 
untarily withdrawn  from  the  marriage  and  had 
taken  her  own  life,  he  bestowed  upon  her  more  pity 
than  her  case,  sad  as  it  was,  demanded.  It  was 
written  that  he  should  misunderstand  her  hopelessly. 
And  she  had  erred  again  in  supposing  that  he  knew 
the  story  of  her  youth.  After  the  flight  of  Denise, 
her  sister  loyally  refused  to  throw  any  more  light 
upon  it ;  and  neither  she  nor  her  father  ever  be- 
trayed it  to  the  world. 

As  to  the  broken  engagement,  that  made  a  very 
bright  spot  in  Marvin's  heart.  Nevertheless,  he 
pretended  to  believe  that  this  satisfaction  was  wholly 
on  Miss  Bromfield's  account.  "  She  has  had  her 
little  experience,"  he  argued ;  "  she  will  be  in  no 
hurry  to  repeat  it.  I  pity  the  poor  devil  who  asks 
her  next.  As  for  me — well,  there  are  three  gray 
hairs  in  my  moustache,  and  I  shall  probably  never 
marry."  He  did  not  trouble  himself  to  wonder  how 
the  engagement  had  been  broken  ;  it  was  an  escape 
for  her,  that  was  enough.  The  world,  however, 
lent  its  ear  readily  to  every  idle  whisper  that  came 
and  went  upon  the  wind.  One  day,  Helena  had 
broken  the  match  for  good  cause ;  the  next,  Am- 
brose had  cast  her  off  most  unreasonably.  They 
had  settled  the  business  by  mutual  consent,  as  the 


"EPPUR  SI  MUO  VE."  2  e  e 

phrase  goes  ;  they  had  quarreled,  ostensibly  over  a 
dinner  at  a  restaurant ;  but  jealousy,  the  green-eyed 
monster,  was  really  more  to  blame  than  any  terra- 
pin or  turtle.  Here  was  introduced  a  shadowy  third 
person,  whose  name  and  sex  depended  upon  the 
story-teller ;  and  so  the  tale  fell  to  pieces  of  its 
own  weight.  Mrs.  Bruni  had  her  failings,  but  tale- 
bearing was  not  among  them.  She  never  hinted 
at  what  she  knew ;  while  Bruni  eagerly  questioned 
everybody  and  knew  nothing. 

All  the  old  stories  were  revived  three  months 
later,  when  Ambrose  became  engaged  to  Miss 
Feathering ;  and  those,  who  had  blamed  him  most, 
were  the  first  to  take  his  part.  That  he  should  turn 
to  her  for  consolation  was  pronounced  entirely 
natural,  after  the  shameful  way  in  which  he  had 
been  treated.  "  Such  a  nice  thing  for  Flossie !  " 
said  her  intimate  friends.  "What  a  handsome  cou- 
ple !  They  are  to  be  married  at  Easter,  and  she 
has  sent  to  Paris  for  her  wedding-dress  !  "  and  they 
were  married  with  the  utmost  splendor  of  which 
the  rite  permits;  with  six  bridesmaids,  and  Dr.  Dud- 
ley, who  was  dead  in  love  with  the  bride  himself, 
standing  quietly  by  as  best  man.  The  newspapers 
said  the  wedding  gifts  were  numerous  and  costly. 
And  Miss  Bromfield,  that  no  shadow,  however 
faint,  might  cast  itself  upon  these  festal  proceed- 
ings, took  the  opportunity  to  make  a  long  visit 
upon  some  distant  friends. 

She  had  seen  little  of  Marvin  that  winter.  Not 
that  she  shunned  society  and  his  in  particular.  It 


256  * OSES  OF  SHADO  W. 

was  entirely  his  fault  that  they  met  but  once  or 
twice  and  talked  of  commonplaces.  Having  no  de- 
sire to  pose  as  a  martyr,  she  went  out  a  great  deal 
where  Ambrose  was  not;  sometimes,  indeed,  where 
he  was,  when  she  knew  it  would  be  easy  to  avoid 
him  ;  at  some  great  ball,  for  instance,  where  all 
the  small  party  factions  rallied  under  one  standard. 
He  often  brushed  by  her  at  these  reunions ;  and 
whether  she  saw  him  or  not,  she  always  knew  when 
he  was  near ;  if  not  instinctively,  by  reading  it  in 
other  eyes. 

One  thing  troubled  her  immensely  in  the  early 
days  of  her  freedom.  This  was  the  thought  that 
perhaps  she  owed  the  house  in  which  she  lived  to 
Ambrose,  directly  or  indirectly.  She  resolved  to 
consult  her  father  about  that,  and  accordingly 
did  so. 

"  What  an  absurd  notion  !  "  said  he.  "  Do  you 
imagine  that  I  would  ever  have  lent  myself  to  that  ? 
Don't  you  know  that  he  has  no  money  to  waste 
upon  such  trifles  ?  " 

"  I  thought  he  might  have  borrowed  the  money, 
papa,"  she  explained ;  "  or  else  have  arranged  it  in 
some  other  way.  I  felt  sure  that  he  knew  about  it." 

"  Not  he !  " 

"  Who  can  it  be  then  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  might  guess,  my  dear,  if  you  tried. 
But  don't  try ;  for  I  am  pledged  to  secrecy  and 
could  hardly  lie  with  a  straight  face,  if  you  should 
happen  to  hit  upon  the  right  man." 

To  his  disappointment,  she  took  him  at  his  word 


"EPPUR  SI  MUO VE." 

and  let  him  alone.  Nothing  would  have  pleased 
him  better  than  to  betray  the  secret  by  a  look  when 
driven  to  the  wall ;  nothing,  that  is,  except  one 
other  thing.  He  was  only  half  happy  in  the  loss 
of  his  prospective  son-in-law.  He  wanted  her  to 
marry  now,  as  earnestly  as  he  had  formerly  hoped 
she  would  remain  single  all  his  days.  But  she 
must  marry  the  right  man — none  other  would  do. 
Being  a  woman,  she  by  no  means  dropped  the 
subject,  merely  because  she  ceased  to  talk  about  it. 
For  her  inward  satisfaction  she  made  many  guesses, 
any  one  of  which  was  probable  enough  ;  but  all 
were  wide  of  the  mark.  She  never  guessed  Marvin, 
strange  to  say.  But  all  her  thoughts  of  him  were 
of  the  bitterest  kind,  to  be  dismissed  as  soon  as 
formed.  She  could  only  associate  him  in  her  mind 
with  Miss  Gerard,  of  whose  disappearance  and 
tragic  end  no  news  had  reached  her.  She  felt  sure 
that  he  loved  that  most  distasteful  person,  and  she 
was  prepared  to  hear  of  their  engagement  at  any 
moment.  When  they  met,  Marvin  was  formal  and 
distant  enough  to  strengthen  her  in  this  false  im- 
pression. She  never  spoke  of  him  to  her  father, 
and,  if  the  captain  ventured  to  pronounce  his  name, 
her  manner  of  greeting  it  was  so  reserved  and  chill- 
ing that  he  drew  back  in  alarm.  For  Marvin  was  his 
man,  though  he  had  the  tact  not  to  let  her  dream  of  it. 
"  Better  to  wait,  old  boy,"  he  would  say  to  himself. 
"  You  can  manage  a  ship,  but  not  a  woman.  She 
used  to  like  him,  though ;  I  would  give  a  month's 
pay  to  know  what  it  means." 
17 


-ff  OSES  OF  SHADO  W. 

One  night  when  they  were  dining  alone,  he  said 
suddenly :  "  Why  in  the  devil  doesn't  that  leathery 
Italian  send  your  portrait  home?  Does  he  think 
it  belongs  to  him  ?  " 

"  Suppose  I  write  and  ask  him,"  she  suggested. 

"  Do  so,  this  very  night.  I  won't  have  it  on  his 
wall  any  longer.  Some  of  his  cronies  will  say 
she's  as  handsome  as  her  father,  and  fall  in  love 
with  it  next.  It's  my  property,  I  want  it."  Helena 
laughed,  and  wrote  the  letter.  Word  came  back 
from  Mrs.  Bruni  that,  though  the  portrait  was  really 
finished,  her  husband  desired  to  retouch  •  it,  and 
would  be  very  grateful  for  just  one  more  sitting.  It 
need  not  be  long — half  an  hour,  at  most.  Would  she 
not  lunch  with  them  the  next  day,  and  sit  afterward  ? 

Mrs.  Bruni,  during  the  last  few  months,  had 
caused  her  eccentric  worser  half  to  knit  his  brows 
more  than  once  in  silent  wonder.  Her  ways  had 
never  been  his  ways,  and  he  had  long  ago  accepted 
the  fact  that  their  married  life  must  be,  at  the  best, 
one  of  harmonious  disagreement.  If  he  had  a  pet 
scheme  at  heart,  he  dealt  with  her  regarding  it  as 
diplomatically  as  if  he  were  an  ambassador  at  a 
foreign  court,  instead  of  the  master  of  his  own 
household.  She  was  disappointed  in  him,  and  she 
disapproved  of  him ;  but,  having  her  own  pursuits, 
she  suffered  less  keenly  than  another  woman  might 
have  done.  She  had  been  born  to  endure,  but 
certainly  not  to  suffer ;  and  she  liked  to  think  and 
to  say  that,  with  all  her  defects,  she  was  not  of  the 
suffering  kind. 


"EPPUR  SI  MUOVE." 

The  part  that  Bruni  had  played,  in  the  breaking 
of  Miss  Bromfield's  engagement,  touched  her  more 
deeply  than  she  was  willing  to  confess.  She  had 
always  said  that  Ambrose  was  a  brwte;  but  her 
husband  had  proved  it,  and  had  turned  his  know- 
ledge to  account  in  the  most  sagacious  way.  And, 
when  she  tried  to  tell  him  so,  he  only  laughed  and 
said  that  was  her  doing.  There  was  something 
very  nice  about  this.  She  began  to  think  his 
methods  worth  studying,  and  she  wished  they  were 
more  alike  in  their  tastes.  She  grew  meek  and 
submissive  in  his  presence,  and  no  longer  tried  to 
preside  over  their  table  as  if  she  were  rapping  to 
order  at  a  sewing-circle.  She  took  to  breakfasting 
in  the  Italian  fashion,  and  bought  a  foreign  cookery- 
book,  to  serve  up  strange  dishes  full  of  pounded 
chestnuts  and  bits  of  sausage  ;  and  finally,  she  im- 
ported privately  a  quantity  of  the  sweet  cakes  the 
Italians  call  biscotti,  that  he  might  soak  them  in  his 
wine  after  dinner.  He  smiled  at  these  attentions ; 
they  evidently  pleased  him  ;  and  so,  one  night  when 
he  showed  an  inclination  to  smoke  his  cigar  at  home, 
she  gave  up  the  most  important  meeting  of  the 
season  for  his  sake,  and  never  told  him  of  the  sacri- 
fice. Here  was  a  change  indeed ! 

But  Bruni  was  far  from  pleased  at  the  apparent 
coolness  between  Marvin  and  Miss  Bromfield.  He 
had  done  more  than  his  share  of  the  work;  it 
seemed  only  fair  to  him  that  they  should  complete 
it  for  themselves.  He  really  expected  to  see  them 
rush  at  once  into  each  other's  arms.  But  here  was 


25o  JtOS£S  Of  SHAD 0 W. 

she  reserved,  and  he  indifferent;  so  that  nothing  of 
the  kind  happened  or  seemed  likely  to  happen.  It 
was  too  bad !  After  Ambrose  was  safely  married 
and  out  of  the  way,  he  could  not  rest.  Like  Sister 
Anne  in  her  tower,  he  scanned  the  horizon  and 
found  only  dust  upon  it.  He  brought  home  heaps 
of  society  papers,  and  ran  his  finger  down  the 
columns,  stopping  it  at  every  hint  of  a  new  engage- 
ment in  the  upper  circles.  But  the  one  he  wanted 
was  never  there.  Then  he  would  pace  the  room, 
and  swear  oaths  of  six  syllables;  fortunately,  all  in 
his  own  melodious  tongue. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Cesare?"  his  wife  asked,  on 
one  of  these  occasions. 

"  Galileo  was  a  fool !  "  he  replied. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  He  said  the  world  moves — I  say  it  does  not. 
That's  all." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  she  sighed. 

"  Those  people  are  not  engaged  yet.  Do  you 
understand  that  ?  " 

Yes,  she  understood  that  perfectly,  and  she 
laughed  at  him. 

"  The  world  moves  slowly — give  it  time,"  said  she. 

"  Time  !  "  he  repeated,  angrily.  "What  does  he 
want  with  time  ?  Why  doesn't  he  walk  straight  up 
and  ask  her,  instead  of  making  the  tour  of  the 
seven  churches?  They  ought  to  have  come 
together  long  ago— you  know  they  ought.  And  I 
say  the  world  stands  still-^at  least  with  these 
idiot  Bostonians." 


"EPP UR  SI  MUO  VE."  26  j 

"  She  may  not  love  him,  after  all,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Bruni. 

"  Not  love  him  ?  "  he  cried,  pounding  the  table 
violently.  "  Then  why  did  you  break  her  engage- 
ment ?  It  was  a  crime  you  committed.  Not  love 
him  ?  She  is  dying  for  him — that  I  know." 

"  Well,  then,  perhaps  he  doesn't  care  for  her." 

"Then  he's  a  brute — an  ass — a  porco /"  and 
Bruni  called  a  dozen  saints  to  witness  that  this  was 
true. 

"  It  will  do  no  good  to  swear,"  said  his  wife, 
soberly.  "And  I  advise  you  to  let  them  alone. 
It's  the  way  with  Boston  men  and  women.  They 
either  wait  till  they  are  old  before  marrying,  or  they 
never  marry.  All  the  swearing  in  the  world  won't 
hurry  them." 

"  For  what  do  they  come  into  the  world,  then  ?  " 
growled  Bruni. 

But  with  this  problem  his  wife  declined  to  grapple. 

This  was  the  state  of  things  in  Casa  Bruni  when 
Helena  went  there  for  her  final  sitting.  She  was 
the  only  guest  at  luncheon,  where  Bruni,  in  his 
lightest  mood,  detained  them  long.  After  it,  they 
all  adjourned  to  the  studio,  Mrs.  Bruni  first  procur- 
ing a  bit  of  sad-colored  embroidery,  with  which  to 
occupy  herself,  while  the  artist  went  up  before  them 
to  arrange  the  light.  He  placed  the  portrait  upon 
his  easel,  and  then  drew  the  curtain  across  the  great, 
recessed  window.  In  doing  this,  he  carelessly 
knocked  down  an  old  unframed  canvas,  that  stood 
near.  It  proved  to  be  an  unfinished  picture  that  he 


262  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

had  half  forgotten,  and  he  smiled  as  he  looked  at 
it,  and  began  to  brush  the  dust  from  it  with  his 
sleeve.  At  that  moment  the  others  came  in. 

"  Do  you  remember  my  attempt  at  landscape?" 
he  said  to  Helena.  "  See ! ", 

It  was  the  sketch  of  the  oaks  at  Waverley,  that 
he  had  shown  her  long  ago.  She  looked  at  it  over 
his  shoulder  for  a  moment,  without  speaking.  "  I 
painted  the  figures  out,  as  you  advised,"  he  went  on. 

"Did  I?"  she  asked,  absently.  "Yes,  I  remem- 
ber. It  is  better  so.  Have  you  sold  it  ?  " 

"This?  Oh,  no.  I  shall  make  a  present  of  it, 
some  time,  to  a  friend,  who  is  very  fond  of  the  place 
— my  friend,  Mr.  Marvin." 

"  Oh,"  said  Helena ;  and  she  walked  away  to  the 
platform,  and  dropped  at  once  into  her  pose. 

As  Bruni  put  down  the  sketch,  he  could  not  help 
glancing  mischievously  at  his  wife.  She  frowned 
back  at  him  severely. 

He  turned  away  to  the  little  platform,  where 
Helena  sat  with  her  face  in  strong  relief  against  the 
background  of  the  dark-red  curtains.  He  looked 
from  her  to  his  easel,  from  his  easel  back  again  to  her. 

"  It  is  not  so  very  bad,  after  all,"  said  he.  Helena 
smiled  at  the  pardonable  weakness  for  his  own 
work,  that  this  speech  rather  thinly  veiled.  She 
gave  him  just  the  expression  that  he  wanted.  He 
dashed  at  the  picture  with  his  brushes,  walking 
backward  now  and  then,  and  turning  to  consider  his 
results  in  a  great  mirror,  that  covered  the  bit  of  wall 
behind  him  from  floor  to  ceiling. 


"EPP UR  SI  MUO  VE." 

Mrs.  Bruni  worked  quietly  on  in  her  corner. 
Helena  did  not  dare  to  speak ;  the  long  silence  that 
followed  was  almost  oppressive  to  her  after  their 
noisy  luncheon;  but  she  preferred  not  to  be  the 
first  to  break  it. 

It  broke  itself,  as  it  were,  suddenly,  with  the 
sharp  ringing  of  a  bell,  that  echoed  through  the 
little  house.  Bruni  pricked  up  his  ears;  and  then, 
with  palette,  brushes,  and  all,  he  rushed  out  upon 
the  landing.  In  a  moment  he  came  back  and  took 
down  the  portrait  hastily.  "  It  is  Marvin,"  he  said. 
"  He  is  coming  up." 

Helena  rose,  instantly.  "I  would  rather  not 
meet  him,"  said  she.  And  she  started  toward  the 
door,  where  she  would  have  met  him  face  to  face. 

"  Quick,  then ;  go  that  way,"  said  Bruni,  pointing 
to  the  crimson  hangings. 

All  studios  are  confusing  places,  and  Helena  had 
never  seen  the  window.  For  the  moment  she  wel- 
comed it  as  a  means  of  escape — a  door  leading  to 
another  room.  She  stepped  behind  the  curtains. 
Before  her  was  the  open  river ;  behind  her  only 
those  swaying  folds,  through  which  she  could 
hear  the  others  talking.  It  was  a  shelter  at  all 
events. 

Bruni  meanwhile  had  put  away  the  portrait,  and 
had  set  up  in  its  place  the  unfinished  oak  trees. 
Now  he  saluted  Marvin,  who  was  already  shaking 
hands  with  his  wife.  Over  his  friend's  shoulder, 
Bruni  bent  upon  her  a  fierce  Italian  scowl  of  the 
true  cinquecento  pattern.  She  did  not  wait  for  a 


264 


KOSES  OF  SHADOW. 


second  hint,  but  folded  her  tent  like  a  crushed  Arab, 
and  silently  withdrew. 

"  Your  note  came  this  morning,"  began  Marvin. 

"  Yes,"  said  Bruni,  with  a  queer,  embarrassed  look. 
Then  he  pointed  to  a  chair,  and  began  to  mix  the 
colors  on  his  palette  with  one  of  his  brushes,  ab- 
stractedly. 

"  Yes,"  repeated  Marvin.  "  I  inferred  that  you 
wanted  to  see  me.  But  if  you  are  busy — " 

"  No,  no  !  "  said  Bruni,  laughing  himself  into 
composure.  "My  note  meant  that  I  had  not  seen 
you  for  a  small  eternity.  Do  sit  down ;  I  will  go 
on  with  my  work,  and  you  shall  talk  to  me." 

"  The  wretch  ! "  thought  Miss  Bromfield  in  her 
mouse-trap.  "  Does  he  mean  to  keep  me  shut  up 
here  for  an  hour  or  two  ?  " 

"  Is  that  the  way  you  work  ? "  asked  Marvin, 
whose  eyes  had  followed  Bruni  to  his  easel.  And 
the  latter,  in  the  recesses  of  his  heart,  let  off  a 
muffled  volley  of  Italian  oaths.  His  oaks  were 
planted  there  before  him,  upside  down. 

He  was  not  to  be  disconcerted  by  such  a  trifle. 
What  did  Marvin  know  about  art  ?  "  Why  not?  " 
he  replied,  soberly.  "  It  is  the  true  way  to  crystal- 
lize effects."  Then  he  stretched  his  arm  out  rigidly, 
and  gave  the  sketch  a  stroke  or  two,  but  with  a  dry 
brush.  "Do  you  think  of  setting  yourself  up  as 
critic  of  the  plastic  arts  ?"  he  continued,  with  bitter 
sarcasm. 

"  No,"  said  Marvin,  finding  that  he  had  really 
ventured  beyond  his  depth.  "  But  a  cat  may  look 


"EPPUR  SI  MUO  VE." 


265 


even  at  a  king,  I  suppose.  I  didn't  know  you  painted 
landscapes.  May  I  see  what  you  are  doing  ?  "  and 
he  jumped  up,  without  waiting  for  permission. 

"  There  is  no  harm  in  that,"  said  Bruni,  reversing 
the  picture  with  a  fine  condescension,  as  if  to  suit 
it  to  his  lower  level.  "  There  you  are  !  " 

There  Marvin  was,  indeed  !  In  a  flash,  he  recalled 
his  walk  of  the  year  before  under  those  very  trees. 
To  think  of  that  was  to  remember  Bruni's  master- 
stroke at  the  club  afterward,  when  awkward  dis- 
closures concerning  the  walk  threatened  him.  He 
thought  of  these  things,  and  forgot  to  give  the 
artist  a  word  of  praise. 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  do  that  ?  "  was  all  he 
said. 

"  I  did  it  for  you.  I  knew  you  liked  the  place," 
explained  Bruni. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Marvin,  looking  about  to  make 
sure  they  were  alone.  "  How  did  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  saw  you  there — once,"  Bruni  replied. 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  Bruni  dabbled 
at  the  sketch  with  a  brush  dipped  in  oil.  They 
were  alone.  Why  should  not  he  have  the  tardy 
thanks  that  were  his  due  ? 

"  That  was  a  clever  thing  you  did  once  at  the 
club,"  said  Marvin  ;  "  you  remember  ?  "  Bruni 
nodded.  "  I  understood  your  motive  perfectly. 
You  saved  me  in  the  nick  of  time.  The  matter, 
though,  was  not  so  serious  as  you  imagined." 

"  I  imagined  nothing,"  retorted  Bruni,  curtly. 

Marvin  was  annoyed,  both  at  the  tone  of  this 


266  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

speech  and  at  the  shallowness  of  Bruni's  mind 
implied  in  it.  There  had  been  no  opening  chapter 
of  romance  woven  about  him,  after  all. 

"  So  much  the  better,  then,"  he  said,  somewhat 
coldly ;  "  I  thought  you  took  me  for  a  blighted 
being — a  cast-off  lover  of  Miss  Bromfield." 

A  nice  turn  their  talk  was  taking,  under  all  the 
circumstances  !  Bruni  slapped  away  at  his  canvas, 
savagely. 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  said ;  "  I  comprehended  the  situa- 
tion. You  were  pleased  at  the  engagement.  Buon 
Dio !  You  asked  nothing  better  than  to  go  to 
church  and  see  her  come  out  of  it  Mrs.  Ambrose ! " 

He  was  a  deep  fellow,  this  Italian.  Marvin 
looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  I  don't  say  that,"  he  replied. 

"  Then  why  not  say  it  ?  It  is  a  good  thing 
when  a  girl  marries  the  man  of  her  choice.  You 

ought  to  be  glad  to  see  her  Mrs.  anybody 

that  you  please  !  " 

Marvin  strode  up  and  down  the  room  solemnly. 
"I  hope  she  will  take  the  right  man,  certainly," 
said  he. 

"  The  right  man  h"  growled  Bruni,  backing  away 
from  the  picture.  He  looked  at  it  a  moment  critic- 
ally; then  he  turned  on  Marvin. 

"  Look  here  !  "  he  said  ;  "  your  hand  on  the  table ! 
Don't  try  to  play  false  cards  with  me,  Marvin !  you 
are  the  man  ! " 

"II"  said  Marvin,  with  a  laugh ;  "  I !  What 
stupid  nonsense  !  She  treats  me  as  though  I  were 


"EPPUR  SI  MUOVEr  267 

a  pickpocket.  I  said  six  words  to  her  the  other 
day,  and  was  well  frozen  for  my  pains." 

"  Bah  !     You  don't  understand  women." 

"  Who  does,  Signer  mio  ?  " 

"  No  man.  I  have  studied  my  own  wife  for  years, 
and  am  no  wiser.  But  what  you  say  proves  nothing." 

"  No,"  said  Marvin ;  "  it  only  proves  that  if  I 
am  the  man,  she  must  speak  first  and  tell  me  so." 

"  You  are  a  fool — I  mean  a  Bostonian  !  "  Bruni 
answered. 

Marvin  stopped  his  walk  at  the  easel  and  faced 
Bruni,  who  had  retreated,  crab-like,  nearly  to  the 
opposite  wall.  The  two  men  looked  at  each  other 
for  a  moment  in  silence.  Marvin  spoke  first. 

"  Bruni,  old  man !  For  Heaven's  sake  don't  take 
me  for  one  of  those  reserved  idiots  with  a  secret 
sorrow  !  Don't  go  about  thinking  that  I  am  in  love 
with  her  ! " 

"  It  is  the  truth  ! "  cried  Bruni,  in  despair.  What 
else  could  he  say  ? 

"  You  wish  me  to  swear  then  that  I  do  not  love 
her  ?"  Marvin  asked,  with  irritation  in  his  voice. 

"  You  dare  not  say  it ! " 

Marvin  looked  down  at  his  coat,  and  with  his 
hand  brushed  away  a  thread,  as  if  its  weight  op- 
pressed him.  "  But  I  do  say  it !  I  shall  never 
marry  her  ! "  he  returned. 

"  It  is  a  lie  ! "  yelled  Bruni,  in  a  storm  of  rage. 

Marvin  looked  up  in  mingled  anger  and  surprise. 
A  slender  line  of  light  flashed  out  in  the  great  mirror 
behind  Bruni.  The  curtain  at  his  own  back  had 


ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

swayed  a  little.  It  might  have  been  a  draught  of 
air ;  but  he  saw  that  Bruni  was  looking  at  the  cur- 
tain, and  not  at  him. 

He  tore  it  away  furiously,  and  found  Miss  Bromfield 
there,  in  tears — sobbing  to  herself,  for  he  had  heard 
no  sound.  The  next  moment  she  was  in  his  arms. 

Bruni  went  down  stairs  to  find  his  wife.  She  was 
writing,  at  her  desk  in  the  drawing-room.  He  could 
hear  the  scratch  of  the  quill,  as  he  stole  in  on  tiptoe. 
He  went  up  and  leaned  upon  her  chair. 

" '  Eppur  si  muove,' "  he  whispered. 

She  dropped  the  pen,  making  a  great  splash  of 
ink  upon  the  page. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Have  they — have  you —  ?  " 

He  nodded,  smiling  like  a  chimpanzee.  "  Si, 
madonna;  e  cosa  fatta  !  Galileo  was  a  wise  man, 
after  all." 

And  then — O  marvel !  He  put  his  arm  around 
her  neck  and  kissed  her. 

A  little  more  than  five  years  afterward,  one 
evening  in  the  early  summer-time,  Jack  Elliston  and 
Dr.  Dudley  sat  alone  on  the  balcony  of  the 
"^Egean."  The  sun  was  setting,  and  they  looked 
at  the  rose-colored  light,  as  they  had  done  often  and 
often  in  the  years  gone  by.  There  was  no  one  in 
the  rooms  behind  them;  the  house  seemed  deserted. 

"  How  this  place  has  changed  !  "  said  Jack,  tilting 
his  chair  back  against  the  wall,  with  a  yawn  that  he 
made  no  attempt  to  disguise. 

He  had  grown  stouter,  and  looked  as  if  he  were 


"EPPUR  SI  MUO  VE."  269 

rather  too  fond  of  dining.  He  was  not  rich,  as  the 
term  goes  nowadays — not  even  so  rich  as  his  mo- 
ther had  fondly  hoped  he  would  be.  Nevertheless, 
his  uncle,  after  endowing  numerous  worthy  institu- 
tions, had  provided  for  him. 

Dr.  Dudley  answered  rather  mournfully.  "  Yes," 
he  sighed,  "  three  years  in  a  club  are  a  generation. 
Look  at  our  old  crowd  !  Married  or  dead  almost 
to  a  man!" 

"  For  better,  for  worse,"  said  Jack,  laughing. 

"  Very  much  for  the  worse — some  of  'em  ! " 

"  You  think  this  better.  I  am  not  so  sure  about 
it,"  Jack  continued.  "  By  the  way,  I  hear  the  di- 
vine creature  has  applied  for  a  divorce." 

"Mrs  Ambrose — yes,"  Dudley  answered. 

"  Good  !  They  say  he  beats  her,"  said  Jack,  who 
had  completely  forgotten  the  rumor  of  his  friend's 
early  attachment  to  Miss  Feathering. 

"  Possibly.     He  drinks  like  a  Roman  emperor." 

"  Yes,  that's  his  type."  And  here  Jack  brought 
his  chair  forward  with  a  thump.  An  open  victoria 
passed  the  house,  and  in  it  were  Marvin  and  his 
wife.  Jack  bowed  to  them  cordially.  He  and 
Marvin  would  never  be  intimate,  but  they  had  be- 
come friends  again. 

"  Speaking  of  angels,"  went  on  Jack,  as  he  re- 
sumed his  attitude  of  luxurious  ease,  "  that  was  a 
lucky  escape  for  her.  Wasn't  it  ?  "  And  he  indi- 
cated the  retreating  carriage. 

"  From  Ambrose,  you  mean — yes.  Marvin  looks 
happy  enough,"  said  Dr.  Dudley,  gloomily. 


270  ROSES  OF  SHADOW. 

"  He  is  happy,"  Jack  asserted,  confidently.  "  Dud- 
ley, why  do  you  and  I  sit  here  alone  ?  There  is 
but  one  thing  for  us — to  make  a  happy  marriage ! " 

And  yet  he  has  never  married. 


THE  END, 


BRIEF  LIST  OF  BO OKS  OF  FIC TION 
PUBLISHED  BY  CHARLES  SCRIBNERS  SONS 


George  W.  Cable. 

THE  GRANDISSIMES.  New  edition,  izmo,  .  .  $1.25 
OLD  CREOLE  DAYS.  New  edition.  i2mo,  .  .  .  1.25 
The  same  in  two  parts.  i6mo.  Cloth,  each,  750.;  paper, 

each, 30 

MADAME  DELPHINE.     i2mo,  .^ 75 

Edward  Eggleston. 

ROXY.  A  Tale  of  Indiana  Life.  Illustrated.  I2mo,  1.50 
THE  CIRCUIT  RIDER.  A  Tale.  Illustrated.  12010,  1.50 
THE  HOOSIER  SCHOOLMASTER.  Illustrated.  I2mo,  1.25 
THE  MYSTERY  OF  METROPOLISVILLE.  Illustrated. 

I2mo,  1.50 

THE  END  OF  THE  WORLD.  A  Love  Story.  Illustrated. 

I2mo, 1.50 

Complete  Sets  (in  box),  .  .  .  .  .  7.25 

y.  G.  Holland. 

SEVENOAKS.    Small  i2mo, 1.25 

THE  BAY  PATH.    Small  i2mo,          ....  1.25 

ARTHUR  BONNICASTLE.    Small  i2mo,      .        .       .  1.25 

Miss  GILBERT'S  CAREER.     Small  i2mo,           .        .  1.25 

NICHOLAS  MINTURN.    Small  i2mo,          .        .       .  1.25 

Frances  Hodgson  Burnett. 

THAT   LASS    o'  LOWRIE'S.     Illustrated.    i2mo.    Paper, 

500.;  cloth,     ...;....          1.50 
HAWORTH'S.     Illustrated.     i2mo,      ....         1.50 

LOUISIANA.     i2mo, i-oo 

SURLY  TIM  and  Other  Stories.     Small  I2mo,     .        .          1.25 

EARLIER  STORIES. 

LINDSAY'S  LUCK.    i6mo.     Paper 30 

PRETTY  POLLY  PBMBERTON.     i6mo.    Paper, 4° 

KATHLEEN.     i6mo.     Paper, 40 

THEO.     i6mo.     Paper, .        .  -3° 

Miss  CRBSPIGNY.     i6mo.     Paper,       ....  .      -3° 


LIST    OF   BOOKS   OF  FICTION. 


Frank   R.  Stockton. 

RUDDER  GRANGE.     i2mo.     Paper,  60  cents ;  cloth,       $1.25 
THE  LADY  OR  THE  TIGER?  and  Other  Stories.     i2mo. 
Paper,  50  cents ;  cloth, i.oo 

George  P.  Lathrop. 

NEWPORT.  lamo.  Paper,  $oc.;  cloth,  .  .  .  1.25 
AN  ECHO  OF  PASSION.  i2mo.  Paper,  500.;  cloth,  i.oo 
IN  THE  DISTANCE.  121110.  Paper,  5oc.;  cloth,  .  i.oo 

Saxe  Holm's  Stories. 
FIRST  SERIES. 

"  Draxy  Miller's  Dowry,"  "  The  Elder's  Wife,"  "  Whose 
Wife  Was  She  ?  "  "  The  One-Legged  Dancers,"  "  How 
One  Woman  Kept  Her  Husband,"  "  Esther  Wynn's 
Love  Letters."  J2ino,  Paper,  500.;  cloth,  .  .  i.oo 

SECOND  SERIES. 

"A  Four-Leaved  Clover,"  "  Farmer  Bassett's  Romance,"  • 
"  My  Tourmaline,"  "  Joe  Hale's  Red  Stocking,"  "Su- 
san Lawton's  Escape."     I2mo,   Paper,  500.;  cloth,  .          i.oo 

H.  H.    Boyesen. 

FALCONBERG.  Illustrated,  isrno,  .  .  .  .  1.50 
GUNNAR.  A  Tale  of  Norse  Life.  Square  I2mo,  .  1.25 
TALES  FROM  Two  HEMISPHERES.  Square  i2mo,  .  i.oo 
ILKA  ON  THE  HILL  TOP,  and  Other  Stories.  Square  I2mo,  i.oo 
QUEEN  TITANIA.  Square  i2mo,  ....  i.oo 

Edward  Everett  Hale. 
PHILIP  NOLAN'S  FRIENDS.     Illustrated.     121110,      .         1.75 

Augustus  M.    Swift. 

CUPID,  M.D.     A  Story.     i6mo,          .        .         .         .          i.oo 


SC£I£NER'S    LIST    OF   BOOKS  OF  FICTION. 


Howard   Pyle. 
WITHIN  THE  CAPES.    One  vol.     121110,    .        .       .       $1.00 

E.   T.   W.  Hoffmann. 

WEIRD  TALES.     2  vols.     i2mo.     With  portrait,        .         3.00 

Erckmann-Ckatrian  Series. 

FRIEND  FRITZ.     i6mo, 1.25 

THE  CONSCRIPT.     Illustrated.     i6mo,       .        .        .  1.25 

WATERLOO.     Illustrated.     12010,       ....  1.25 

MADAME  THERESE.     Illustrated.     i6mo,  .        .        .  1.25 

THE  BLOCKADE  OF  PHALSBURG.    Illustrated.     i6mo,  1.25 

THE  INVASION  OF  FRANCE  IN  1814.  Illustrated.  i6mo,  1.25 

A  MILLER'S  STORY  OF  THE  WAR.     i6mo,         .        .  1.25 

yules  Verne. 

GODFREY  MORGAN.  Illustrated.  8vo,  ....  2.00 
MICHAEL  STROGOFF.  Illustrated.  New  edition.  8vo,  .  2.00 
A  FLOATING  CITY,  and  THE  BLOCKADE  RUNNERS. 

Illustrated.     8vo, 2.00 

HECTOR  SERVADAC.     Illustrated.    8vo,  ....  2.00 

DICK  SANDS.     Illustrated.     8vo, 3-oo 

A  JOURNEY  TO  THE  CENTRE  OF  THE  EARTH.    Illustra- 
ted.   8vo, 3-°° 

THE  MYSTERIOUS  ISLAND.   Illustrated.  8vo,   .  .  3.00 

FROM  THE  EARTH  TO  THE  MOON  DIRECT  IN  NINETY- 
SEVEN  HOURS,  TWENTY  MINUTES.  Illustrated.  12010,  1.50 
STORIES  OF  ADVENTURE.  Comprising  "  Meridiana,"  and 

"A  Journey  to  the  Centre  of  the  Earth."    Illus.     12010,1.50 
THE  DEMON   OF    CAWNPORE.     (Part  I   of  the  Steam 

House).     Illustrated.     I2mo, l-S° 

TIGERS  AND  TRAITORS.     (Part  II  of  the  Steam  House). 

Illustrated.      I2mo, X-5O 

EIGHT  HUNDRED  LEAGUES  ON  THE  AMAZON.    (Part  i 

of  the  Giant  Raft).     Illustrated.     I2mo?  1-5° 

THE  CRYPTOGRAM.    (Part  II  of  the  Giant  Raft). 

trated.     I2mo,  ,        ,        i        i        «  I-5° 


LIST  OF  BOOKS  OF  FICTION. 


The  King1  s  Men. 

A  Tale  of  To-morrow.     By   Robert   Grant,   John  Boyle 
O'Reilly,  J.S.  of  Dale,  and  John  T.  Wheelwright.  I2mo,  $1.25 

Virginia    W.   Johnson. 
THE  FAINALLS  OF  TIPTON.     12010,         .        .        .         1.25 

Mrs.  E.  Prentiss. 

FRED,  MARIA,  AND  ME.   With  illustrations.  i2mo.  New 
edition, i.oo 

y.  S.  of  Dale. 

GUERNDALE.     An  Old  Story.     I2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ; 

cloth, 1.25 

THE  CRIME  OF  HENRY  VANE.  By  the  author  of  "  Guern- 

dale."     I2mo, i.oo 

Mary  Adams. 
AN  HONORABLE  SURRENDER.    i6mo,     .        .        .         i.oo 

Count  Leo    Tolstoy. 
THE  COSSACKS.     i2mo, 1.25 

Donald  G.  Mitchell. 
DR,  JOHNS.     I2mo.    New  edition,  .        .        .         1.25 

Julia  Schayer. 
TIGER  LILY  and  Other  Stories.     i2mo,      .        .        .         i.oo 

Mary  Mapes  Dodge. 
}     THEOPHILUS  AND  OTHERS.     i2mo,          .       .        .         1.50 

A.  Perry. 

THE  SCHOOLMASTER'S  TRIAL.     i2mo,      .        .        .         i.oo 

H.  C.  Bunner  and  Brander  Matthews. 
IN  PARTNERSHIP.     Studies  in  Story-Telling.     i2mo,        i.oo 

Across  the  Chasm. 

One  vol.      I2mo,  .,,,...          I  o« 


LIST  OF  BOOKS  OF  FICTION* 


Stories   by   American  Authors. 

A  collection  of  the  most  noteworthy  stories  written  in 
recent  years,  not  hitherto  printed  in  book  form,  now  pub- 
lished by  arrangement  with  the  authors. 

I.— WHO  WAS  SHE  ?  Bayard  Taylor.  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CASE,  Bran- 
der  Matthews  and  H.  C.  Bunner.  ONE  OF  THE  THIRTY  PIECES,  William 
Henry  Bishop.  BALACCHI  BROTHERS,  Rebecca  Harding  Davis.  AN 
OPERATION  IN  MONEY,  Albert  Webster.  i6mo t  .50 

II. — THE  TRANSFERRED  GHOST,  Frank  R.  Stockton.  A  MARTYR  TO  SCIENCE, 
Mary  Putnam  Jacobi,  M.D.  MKS.  KNOLLYS,  I.  S.  of  Dale.  A  DINNER 
PARTY,  John  Eddy.  THE  MOUNT  OF  SORROW,  Harriet  Prescott  Spofford. 
SISTER  SILVIA,  Mary  Agnes  Tinker.  i6mo,  .  .  .  .  .  .50 

III. — THE  SPIDER'S  EYE,  Lucretia  P.  Hale.  A  STORY  OF  THE  LATIN  QUARTER, 
Frances  Hodgson  Burnett.  Two  PURSE-COMPANIONS,  George  Parsons 
Lathrop.  POOR  OGLA-MOGA,  David  D.  Lloyd.  A  MEMORABLE  MURDER, 
Celia  Thaxter.  VENETIAN  GLASS,  Brander  Matthews.  i6mo,  .  .  .50 

IV. — Miss  GRIEF,  Constance  Fenimore  Woolson.  LOVE  IN  OLD  CLOATHKS, 
H.  C.  Bunner.  T\vo  BUCKETS  IN  A  WELL,  N.  P.  Willis.  FRIEND  BARTON'S 
CONCERN,  Mary  Hallock  Foote.  AN  INSPIRED  LOBBYIST,  J.  W.  DeForest. 
LOST  IN  THE  FOG,  Noah  Brooks.  i6mo, 50 

V. — A  LIGHT  MAN,  Henry  James.  YATIL,  F.  D.  Millet.  THE  END  OF  NEW 
YORK,  Park  Benjamin.  WHY  THOMAS  WAS  DISCHARGED,  George 
Arnold.  THB  TACHYPOMP,  E.  P.  Mitchell.  i6mo, 50 

VI.— THE  VILLAGE  CONVICT,  C.  H.  White.  THE  DENVER  EXPRESS,  A.  A. 
Hayes.  THE  MISFORTUNES  OF  BRO'  THOMAS  WHEATCEV,  Lina  Redwood 
Fairfax.  THE  HEARTBREAK  CAMEO,  Mrs.  L.  W.  Champney.  Miss 
EUNICE'S  GI.OVE,  Albert  Webster.  BROTHER  SEBASTIAN'S  FRIENDSHIP, 
Harold  Frederick.  iCrao,  ........  .50 

VII. — THE  BISHOP'S  VAGABOND,  Octave  Thanet.  LOST,  Edward  Bellamy. 
KIRBY'S  COALS  OF  FIRE,  Louise  Stockton.  PASSAGES  FROM  THE  JOURNAL 
OF  A  SOCIAL  WRECK,  Margaret  Floyd.  STELLA  GRAYLAND,  James  T. 
McKay.  THE  IMAGE  OF  SAN  DONATO,  Virginia  W.  Johnson,  .  .  .30 

VIII. — THE  BRIGADE  COMMANDER,  J.  W.  DeForest.  SPLIT  ZEPHYR,  Henry  A. 
Beers.  ZERVIAH  HOPE,  Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps.  THB  LIFE  MAGNET, 
Alvey  A.  Adee.  OSGOOD'S  PREDICAMENT,  Elizabeth  D.  B.  Stoddard,  .  .50 

IX.— M  ARSE  CHAN,  Thomas  Nelson  Page.  MR.  BIXBY'S  CHRISTMAS  VISITOR, 
Charles  S.  Gage.  ELI,  C.  H.  White.  YOUNG  STRONG  OF  THE  CLARION, 
Millicent  Washburn  Shinn.  How  OLD  WIGGINS  WORE  SHIP,  Captain 
Rowland  F.  Coffin.  " MAS  HAS  COME,"  Leonard  Kipp,  .  .  .  .50 

X.— PANCHA,  T.  A.  Janvier.  THE  ABLEST  MAN  IN  THE  WORLD,  E.  P. 
Mitchell.  YOUNG  MOLL'S  PEEVY,  C.  A.  Stephens.  MANMAT'HA,  Charles 
de  Kay.  A  DARING  FICTION,  H.  H.  Boyesen.  THE  STORY  OF  Two 
LIVES,  Julia  Schayer,  .....••••  «S* 

Complete  Sets,  10  vols.  in  a  box,  $5.00. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


JAN2819T4 


rm  L9-Series  444 


A     000  058  222     1 


